


Free to Good Home

by Felrott



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Captivity, Emotional Manipulation, Enemies to Lovers, Hand Feeding, M/M, Not Explicit Yet But Later, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Imbalance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26338096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felrott/pseuds/Felrott
Summary: Anduin takes in a stray, hoping it'll help sniff out Sylvanas Windrunner.He gets a bit more than he bargained for.
Relationships: Nathanos Blightcaller/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 55
Kudos: 81





	1. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> My guildie linked me to some fics like '[this crack ship] has destoyed me and it's all there is :(' and since then I haven't known peace, I've been absolutely consumed by this ship, head empty only nanduin thoughts it's a godamn nightmare??
> 
> I didn't even care much for Nathanos like 4 months ago and now I'm stanning hard enough to look like a clown...
> 
> Anyway, some fic notes:  
> I solely play Horde, and even though I'm blasting through Alli side BfA for the mount, I have zero clue about a LOT of stuff that happens, so if there's something noticeably wrong in that end it's bc I haven't been in Stormwind since uhh, Wrath lol. Wowhead/wiki is doing a lot of work here...
> 
> This will eventually be a top!Anduin/bottom!Nathanos fic and I'm telling you now so you can tap out if it's not your dynamic
> 
> I'm shit at judging like, the bad/dark levels of fic, so I don't /think/ this is too bad, but it's pretty unhealthy, even if both parties are into it y'know. Also not sure if this counts as dark!Anduin but it's more like... a stressed Anduin who makes Several Dubious Choices
> 
> I think that mostly covers it. I'll put warnings for any dicey stuff in the notes going forward anyway, so here take some fic

The Eastern Plaguelands were a blemish upon the world, a stain that seemed to persist no matter how many druids poured themselves into healing it. Anduin wondered to himself what you were supposed to do with something that was so rotten, so toxic that the very air they flew through choked him. The bitterness stuck in the back of his throat. He pulled the neck of his travelling cloak higher, wrapped the scarf tighter around his face, but he could still taste it; the dampness threatening to settle in his lungs if they stayed in the air too long or breathed too deeply. The last resort, he guessed, would be to burn the rot out, raze it to the ground and hope the earth itself could renew afterwards, but they weren’t quite at that point yet, or at least the reports he’d read suggested the Cenarion Circle still had hope.

And at the end of the day, everything in this world was starting to come down to hope. Hope and, Light-willing, some good luck.

It was someone else’s hope, someone’s _luck_ , that had called him here; luck that Turalyon and Alleria, trusted and sent on Anduin’s orders to search for signs of Sylvanas Windrunner, had been passing through the area. Luck that Turalyon had wanted to stop in to visit and replenish their supplies, and luck that the night before a paladin had finally managed to track down a local undead ‘beast’ who’d been terrorising the Plaguelands for weeks.

Lucky for the ‘beast’, that the Argent Crusade were of the thought it was none other than Stephon Marris, one of their own who’d been missing for years. Anduin had to hope for their sake it was true, that he could help the lost soldier return to his comrades, who were clearly more concerned with his well-being than his state of… living.

There was another hope; perhaps Stephon would know the whereabouts of his elusive cousin, Nathanos ‘Blightcaller’, arguably one of the most wanted men on Azeroth, an enemy of both Alliance and Horde alike. Anduin wasn’t certain of it himself, doubted whatever familial bond left would help, but at this point any lead was worth chasing. If it could get them even a single step closer to finding Nathanos, and ultimately Sylvanas, it was worth whatever the cost.

Anduin had to pray it was luck— _hope_ it was— because if nothing else, experience had taught him that too many perfect coincidences ended up being little more than traps.

The request from Turalyon was intentionally vague in case of interception; neither faction were foolish enough to think a ceasefire meant they shouldn’t keep an eye on each other. ‘ _A lost friend brightens our lives. Come quickly before he leaves_ ’. Though perhaps too vague, for Shaw had tutted and refused to entertain the idea until he’d had his sources find out exactly who was ‘visiting’.

The next Anduin heard of it was when he awoke to Shaw in his chambers, a nondescript cloak slung over his arm and a stack of papers tucked under the other. He’d helped Anduin dress in a daze, explaining who and possibly what Stephon Marris was while he helped him into a tatty set of old clothes and flying boots, which kept him warm only by virtue of the enchantments and magical threads woven into the hems. By the time Anduin had the cloak tugged into place, a polite knock at the door announced the presence of two mages Anduin didn’t recognise and before he was even truly awake they were in Arathi, their most northerly stronghold.

The commander out there at least had the decency to get him a cup of coffee while they readied the gryphons, and Anduin had managed to shove a bread roll into his mouth before they mounted. From there they had flown over the mountains, through the crisp clear air of the Hinterlands, and into the decaying damp of the Plaguelands. The nausea that began to build with the toxic air made Anduin regret even the meagre breakfast he’d found, and he wilfully ignored Shaw’s knowing frown when he looked back to check on him.

In an attempt to ignore the ache in his stomach, he tried to concentrate on what he could see through the gloom. The grand ruins of Scholomance were behind them, and whatever dark magic still remained left an unshakable crawling feeling in his back. This entire land was an antithesis to his own being, and it felt like whatever dark energies amassed here clawed at him, drawn to his light and faith, seeking to purge it.

It didn’t help his nausea.

It didn’t take long for the unease to grow when, in the distance, Anduin could just barely see the shadow of Stratholme through the haze of heavy fog, still abandoned even now. Even when he forced his eyes away he could feel the disturbance in the Light, an ache in his gut worse than the crawling in his skin. Stratholme was the epicentre of so much evil, an open wound that refused to heal, and Anduin thought again of rot and fire, of hard choices and the consequences. He’d made his own recently, and would continue to do so throughout his reign, and could only pray to the Light they they were the right ones.

Blessedly, Light’s Hope Chapel was in view, a beacon within the gloom to focus on, and it was a simple matter to fly low and land just outside and hail the guards on watch. They were welcomed in with a brief lift of Anduin’s hood; the settlement might be faction neutral, but it would be lax of the guards not to know who was within their walls.

Walls that, Anduin was pleased to see, were far more robust and complete than any time he’d previously visited. The little chapel was the centre point of a bustling settlement. Tents no longer littered the ground, instead houses and workshops sat in clusters, built from stone and wood, a symbol of the small community’s intentions to stay and weather whatever came at them. A promise for the future that Anduin found uplifted his melancholy mood. Beside him, Shaw observed as well and nodded to himself a couple of times. Anduin had no doubts Shaw had heard about the settlement’s growth, but reading a report and seeing it for yourself were completely different. Even the perpetual drizzle seemed lighter here, a fresh dewy mist in the air instead of the heavy, cloying damp outside of the settlement walls.

“My King! Welcome!” Maxwell Tyrosus was a welcome and familiar face amongst the handful of new faces Anduin didn’t recognise in the guards and paladins of the Order. “I came at Turalyon’s behest, and admittedly my own selfishness. The Highlord sends his regards, and regrets that they couldn’t come.”

“Of course,” Anduin understood only too well; so many of the best among them were still stationed in Kul Tiras and beyond. He and Shaw walked with Tyrosus to the Chapel, accepting an offered drink— a sharp tea that cleared the lingering damp from the back of his throat and helped settle his stomach. “I’m glad to see you well. Between the Burning Legion and the threats from both the Horde and N’Zoth, it seems like faith in the light is needed more than ever.” Next to him, Shaw nodded in idle agreement and drained his cup.

Tyrosus was silent a moment, cup to his mouth but he didn’t drink, merely frowned and sighed. “My faith is as strong as ever, but I must confess it’s been hard to find hope recently. Although, perhaps this will change that; the men who knew Stephon in life claim the resemblance is startling, despite Alleria Windrunner’s concerns.”

“She knew him?”

“In passing. She knew more of Nathanos mind you, and apparently had to suffer him in the Farstriders regularly. She will give you her own report, but she’s confirmed the… _Man_ we’ve captured doesn’t seem to bear any resemblance to him.”

Anduin didn’t have to look to know Shaw would be hiding a sour expression; the trouble was, none of them knew clearly what Nathanos Blightcaller looked like, save for King Greymane who had fought him in close combat. Even then, he wasn’t a fantastic source. _‘I didn’t pay much attention to his face, except to try and rip it off. Red eyes. Pale. Undead. Less undead looking than the rest maybe, but it’s the stink of him I’d recognise_ ’. Shaw complained that scents didn’t make for great wanted posters, and Anduin had spent the next ten minutes trying to stop them from fighting each other.

Alleria’s word was likely their best lead unless they started ‘finding’ some higher-ranking Horde soldiers to question, and that was a headache Anduin wasn’t ready for. He’d already heard from Jaina about Turalyon and Alleria’s newfound _methods_ , but he told himself it was worth it, that he trusted them and their judgement implicitly.

Sometimes he told himself that any cost was worth it to find Sylvanas, but that voice only came when he was alone and unsure, and he prayed daily that doing the right thing wouldn’t accidentally lead him astray like so many before him.

As they talked, Tyrosus led them toward the chapel, and once inside to a smaller room at the back. Anduin noted the newer stonework, the decorative statues and fabrics that marked it as a growing place of worship and community, not simply a holy shelter from the scourge. It was truly buoying to see such a community rise against the darkness, and Anduin hoped he could return to visit under less stressful circumstances.

Inside, guards stood in perfect stance at the door, and Turalyon and Alleria both rose from their seats at a meeting table to nod their deference to their King. Next to them, Anduin recognised a couple of older members of the Argent Crusade, people his father had fought with at the height of the war against the Lich King, as well as newer, younger faces he had yet to meet. He glanced to Shaw, who he could see was stoically blank-faced, though Anduin knew that to be a sign in of itself; Shaw probably thought too many people were getting involved, but this wasn’t their ‘mission’ yet, not until they could confirm if Stephon knew anything.

He took a seat at the head of the table, where a stack of papers, the report he assumed, was waiting. Shaw sat to his right, immediately pulled the papers over and started leafing through it himself.

Turalyon remained standing, and with Anduin’s nod gave his brief report.

“My King. Master Shaw. I appreciate the speed with which you came. My full report is in your hands, but I fear time is of the essence. Alleria and I, with our contingent, came to the area following a lead. It’s the will of the Light that we arrived the same day Captain Jarron tracked down a ‘beast’ that had been terrorising the area these past few weeks. We helped to capture it—him, but we need your help and guidance with how to progress.” He motioned to Jerron, one of the younger, unknown faces at the table, who nodded as he stood and gave his own summary.

“There was no pattern, sire; civilians, travellers and newer recruits have been going missing for approximately a month, possibly longer, but there was nothing to track. It was never the same location. It felt, wrong… It’s hard to pin-point exactly what it was, but you get a gut feeling for these things. As you can expect, half-eaten corpses aren’t a rarity in the area, but these… They were hunted, driven from the roads and their patrol routes. Killed violently. The average ghoul tends to attack where you stand, you see, hence why the roads are typically safe enough for careful travellers, but this was a step beyond.” He waves towards the thick stack of parchment Shaw was leafing through,“We were only able to track it— him— down after another patrol went missing. As you can understand, we’ve only been sending out experienced fighters on patrol these days, but even then… We found one of the pair half-dead. She’d managed to crawl back towards their route, and had enough in her to point them towards the old Marris Stead before passing out.

“Please understand Sire, that we’ve been checking there regularly. The Blightcaller was known to uh, _haunt_ it for a period before the Burning Legion came, but he’s not been seen there since. Nothing living, dead or undead has touched in it years, but even so we followed, a full team behind us. And… we found it.. Him… A ghoul, eating whatever wasn’t protected by the plate armour. I think it’s only because we ambushed him mid-meal that we were able to take him. He brushed off some of our attacks, fought savagely —mindlessly— but the Holy Light is powerful in us all, and he is still cursed with undeath, so we managed to weaken him enough to chain and drag back here. I’ll admit, we didn’t realise it was Stephon until I stepped in to deliver a killing blow, and thankfully managed to stay my hand against my instincts.”

Anduin thought that it was a well rehearsed report, though not exactly a short one, but he kept his opinion to himself. The Captain explained how they dragged Stephon to the crypt behind the Chapel, that he needed almost constant holy chains and Light to keep him stunned and feeble enough to move.

“It’s unfortunate that the Light is weaker there,” Tyrosus said as he stood, the Captain taking a seat, “but we’re not in the habit of taking captives, particularly undead ones. We have three paladins on watch day and night, and he’s been secured with chains. Thankfully, he’s feral enough that he can’t seem to do more than thrash and growl at us.”

“And you’re certain it’s him, Stephon Marris?” Shaw asked.

“We cannot be truly certain, but we’ve asked everyone who knew him, and they all confirm he looks near enough identical. The small changes are easily explained with his… Condition.”

“I saw him in passing during my time as a ranger. Their farmstead was near enough to the main road, and I had to track down my sister to it a few times.” Alleria spoke as she stood. Anduin wished they’d all just stay sat down. “He looks mostly as I remember him, but more importantly I can confirm that he looks nothing like the Nathanos Marris my sister darkened our doorstep with.”

Hope lit up inside Anduin. He addressed Alleria while sitting down, his legs still ached form the long ride. “You’re certain? You know we’ve few eye witnesses to what Sylvanas’ champion looks like.” It was one of the main reason he’d sent her.

“Nathanos was…” Alleria looked to the ceiling as she remembered. “Red hair, not unlike yours Master Shaw, though lightened more from the sun. Shorter than his cousin. Not as well built— he joined the rangers young, didn’t develop the thickness so many farmers seem inclined to. I must admit, most humans look the same to me, more so back then , but it’s just.. The face just isn’t the same.”

“I trust your instincts, thank you.” He looks to the room. “So, what’s the plan of action?”

“I think,” said Turalyon, “that if we can get him to calm down, we might be able to heal his mind, bring him to his senses like the rest of the forsaken. From there, it’s up to him.”

Next to him Shaw nodded, still reading the full report but somehow able to listen fully at the same time. He barely looked up to address the room. “The undead condition is still largely unknown to us. Even those of the Ebon Blade who’ve returned to the Alliance are tight about the details. But, there are rumours backed up by anecdotal evidence; the only thing stopping all forsaken from reverting to such mindless monsters is willpower. They rise angry and mindless, and are… Coached I believe, until they can control themselves, at which point they’re let loose on the world.” His lip curled in clear distaste. “With any luck, Marris can be brought back to his senses enough for us to question him.”

“You truly think he might know where Nathanos is?”

“I think it’s worth a shot.” Shaw gave the room his full attention. “If he was turned years ago, but only just started killing, that likely means he was stationed elsewhere. Or he was hiding out here and something finally caused him to snap, lose his willpower. It also seems to line up perfectly with Sylvanas’ disappearance. It might just be a coincidence, but I don’t believe in them.”

There was a ripple of agreement. Pleased, Anduin stood and everyone rushed to their feet. He did his best not to sigh.

“Well then,” he smiled and looked at everyone in turn, “thank you all, for your report and your dedication in getting us this far. Hopefully, this is the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for, and it’s thanks to you and your hard work, your faith, that we’re closer to ending this once and for all.”

There was a murmur of thanks and brief prayers as they all filed out, the party following Tyrosus to the crypt tucked behind the Chapel. Both Tyrosus and Captain Jarron looked grim, but they nodded and stepped aside to let Anduin and Shaw peak through the bolted and chained gate. Behind them, Anduin heard the soft clanging of people drawing their weapons and the warmth of Light at the ready, but he couldn’t turn around, too shocked at the sight of the creature before him.

They’d shackled him to a grate just inside the entrance, within easy reach of the guards as well as the illumination from a torch positioned high on the wall inside. It clearly pained a few of the men to go to such measures for their friend, but there was a grim determination to them all.

The man in front of him, if he could be called that, was strangely whole for a forsaken, reminding Anduin of the Banshee Queen herself or the death knights he’d seen lurking in Stormwind occasionally. The similarity ended there.

Whatever was left of Stephon’s clothing was in tatters, his armour long gone with his boots, and the rest so covered in blood and filth that it was visibly stiff in places. He couldn’t fully see with the way he hunched against the wall, but his bare feet were torn and bloody, and Anduin suspected it was only the caked on mud that was stopping them from smearing more dark ichor on the stone beneath him.

With their approach, Stephon seemed to tuck himself tighter to the wall, and his low vibrating moan turned into a full, deep growl, the layers of filth on his lips and jaw cracking as he bared his teeth. He was mindless, eyes wild and wide, staring at them not in recognition of a foe, but with a wariness that this ‘meal’ was a harder hunt than others.

Anduin barely held himself back from throwing up. The stench alone was enough, the rot overpowering even from a few paces away, but the sight of anyone in this state, dead or not, was too much.

“Stephon Marris?” He tired to muster a surety to his voice that he didn’t feel. There was a reaction, he thought. Stephon hunched more, seemed to focus wild eyes on him, but his growling became more violent, teeth gnashing and frantic.

“Anduin, he’s beyond that. Trust me.” Alleria spoke behind him quietly. “He’s little more than a beast right now.”

“So I see.” But any reaction was better than nothing. He tried to catch Stephon’s full attention by waving his hand, but it only served to make him louder and more agitated. Anduin watched in mild disgust as a glob of bloody spit dripped down Stephon’s chin, the mess mixing with whatever other gore was matted into his beard. A beast indeed. “Shaw?”

“We should transfer him to the Stockades. It’ll be more secure for us to get to work, with fewer risks than keeping him here. Between King Anduin and our guards we’ll be able to control him, but we’d appreciate your help transferring him.” He continued to outline the plan; a portal back, now that they were safely hidden, while two decoys would fly out wearing their cloaks in case anyone had eyes on the settlement. They’d make the trip after lunch, letting Anduin and Tyrosus rest enough so they’d be able to keep Stephon properly shackled with the light, with Turalyon and Alleria as back up. Shaw’s agents were already waiting back in the Stockades, a cell prepped in the unused lower levels, where Shaw had personally made certain no one would be able to get in or out without him knowing their every move.

With the plan in motion, Anduin offered a silent, heartfelt prayer for guidance and strength, and more than a little amount of luck.


	2. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get used to this update speed it's bc I built up a buffer but I'm too weak-willed to maintain it lol

In the depths of the Stormwind Stockades, Anduin hesitated at the bolted door to their deepest cell. He’d been in there just the other day, helping to secure Marris to the middle of the floor with enough chains around him, both holy and steel, that he couldn’t move more than an inch whenever he rose to consciousness enough to try and fight back. Shaw assured him that the damp and coolness down here wouldn’t be an issue for him, though it made Anduin uncomfortable enough that today he’d brought a thicker cloak, and he noted the two paladins on guard were similarly wrapped warmly. Hopefully they wouldn’t be down there long enough for his joints to start aching, though for tomorrow he’d best bring a warming salve just in case.

They’d left Stephon two days to calm down and adjust. Through the small watch-hole, Anduin saw he was almost relaxed, or at least quiet. Staring at the floor in front of him, he still growled lowly in the back of his throat, and it rose whenever a guard shifted or muttered quietly to the other, but it was better than the state he was in in the crypt. Anduin hoped it would stay that way.

“It won’t open itself.” Shaw leaned against the opposite wall, but didn’t seem in any rush. He had a notebook tucked under one crossed arm, and an unfamiliar bag at his side.

“I’m waiting for Valeera”. She’d been part of their discussions already, and would have involved herself even if Anduin didn’t welcome her. Anduin thought it might just be an overprotective streak in her, but she could easily just be bored, it was hard to tell.

“Mmhm.” He shrugged. “Well, until then. Here, this is from the hunter.” He lazily tossed his bag to Anduin. A quick peek inside confirmed his guess; it contained a small bowl with a lid, and within that Anduin knew there to be chunks of meat. A long-handled fork poked out of the top.

They had consulted a hunter after securing Stephon in his cell. It wasn’t quite the same, but the tricks and abilities they often used to calm or tame wild animals was probably the best way to start. It would be simple, supposedly; reward good behaviour, ignore the bad. Try and have him imprint on one of them, let him know that he can trust you and in theory the bond would come naturally.

Anduin wasn’t sure the bond would be necessary. After all, he had no plans to ‘keep’ Stephon once he’d recovered enough to tell them what he knew, and with any hope he’d be able to return to Light’s Hope Chapel. Or given to Orgrimmar, if that’s what he preferred.

Valeera seemed to think that taming the forsaken like a ‘beast’ was their best bet. She was party to rumours that spread amongst the Uncrowned. Apparently, some rogues were very susceptible to coin and some blood elves cared more for heritage than faction, or at least didn’t mind spilling secrets to one of their own.

‘ _There was a rumour amongst the Forsaken, that Sylvanas’ ‘love’ for Nathanos was so great she tracked him down after she freed herself, and spent ‘many days and nights calling to him’ to cure him of the undead frenzy. It sounds… wildly romanticised to me, but there might be a grain of truth to it. If anyone could tame a wild beast it would be you Anduin, just go in and give him that smile you do and he’ll roll on his back.’_

Renzik was looking into the rumours, and Anduin had seen the fairly thick dossier Si:7 had on Nathanos tucked under Shaw’s arm last night, but it was something to go on at least. Ideally they needed someone more familiar with the undead; they knew how to kill them, but the particulars of their biology and culture were a closely guarded secret, one Shaw confessed he’d been unable to extract. Regardless, Anduin had sent a request to the Ebon Blade, hopeful for any response, though Shaw doubted they’d reply; like the Illidari they seemed to hold themselves beyond the Alliance or Horde, with many far more sympathetic to the latter and their undead brethren than people liked to admit.

He was pulled from his thoughts by footsteps, and glanced up to see Valeera dressed more casually than her preferred armour, though it likely just meant there were more places to hide a dagger. She offered a nod as she approached, glanced at the bag in Anduin’s hands, and gestured to the door.

“I didn’t expect you to wait, but thanks. Shall we?”

Absolutely.

Anduin opened the door, Shaw and Valeera behind him. Immediately Stephon focused on him and his low grumble rose to a snarling growl. Anduin ignored it. Shaw simply leaned against the wall by the door, and Valeera hopped up onto the table near it, ignoring the creaky chair. The was a small cot too, dusty and unused in the corner, and would remain so by the looks of things.

“Stephon Marris, hello.” It brought his attention to Anduin, though his eyes were still unfocused, darting about the room between the three of them. He waited, called him again, and this time when he looked up at him, Anduin rewarded him by holding a speared piece of meat up near his face, just in range for him to take it.

He didn’t.

“It’s fine, I know you must be scared.” The meat went back into the bag, which Anduin hid behind his back. “Do you know who you are? You’re Stephon Marris, a member of the Argent Crusade. You’re in Stormwind right now. We’re trying to help you. My name is Anduin.”

Stephon just stared. Anduin called his name. Again. And again. And again. And again…

Valeera adjusted her position on the table, and Anduin knows it’s deliberate if she’s letting him hear it. He didn’t look back, but it’s enough to catch Stephon’s attention and he glanced away.

“Stephon.” Anduin’s voice was hard.

Surprisingly though, it was enough; Stephon’s head snapped back to him when he called this time, a focus in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Anduin offered him another treat, which was considered but ultimately ignored, and it felt almost like progress.

They continued for what felt like hours; Shaw eventually settled on the chair next to Valeera, and they took turns ‘accidentally’ distracting Stephon so that Anduin could call his attention back. The undead showed no sign of wearing out, which Anduin supposed was their biggest strength, but in the end he had to call it to a stop himself. His focus was slipping, his legs ached and the moment he thought about it, he realised how deeply the chill of the place had sunk into his bones.

“Stephon, thank you for today. We’re making progress, and we’ll be back tomorrow.” Another offer of meat went ignored, but Stephon was quiet, watching.

He sensed Valeera behind him before he felt her hand on his arm, and her grip was solid but discrete as Anduin finally unlocked his legs and stumbled to the door. Once safely bolted again they heard the rising growls from within, but his focus was entirely on stretching and warming up his legs and hips, easing the ache enough for him to get back to his quarters. Valeera offered an unlabelled potion with no comment, rightly guessing that Anduin hadn’t thought to bring one, and he knocked it back with a murmur of thanks.

Shaw didn’t comment. Anduin watched him jot down some notes in the gutters of whatever he’d brought with him, and slowly they made their way back to the keep, forgoing the secret underground routes even if it might be quicker; if any Horde spies saw them enter through the main door, they need to see them leave by it too. The last thing Shaw wanted was for them to suspect more entrances than they already know about.

“It might not feel it, but that was good work Sire.” Shaw clasped a hand on Anduin’s shoulder, startling him with the unfamiliar touch. They both awkwardly ignored it. “If Stephon keeps bonding with you, we should get through to him in no time. Tomorrow, I’ll meet you after the morning audience, and run you through any lines I think you should try.”

“You won’t ask him yourself?”

“I think we should focus on having him bound to you. After all, you’re the one who can,” he waved his hand about vaguely, “destroy him with the Light. Though try not to. A harsh burn maybe.” He paused. Scowled. “A… light burn…”

“That was almost a joke Shaw.” One Anduin had heard before, but it helped brighten the mood.

“Oh? Someone’s been hanging around that pirate too much! Invite him to Stormwind again— anything that gets you to lighten up needs to be installed here permanently. ” Valeera teased. She seemed delighted by Shaw’s grumble, and Anduin was glad to see her smiling again.

Shaw adamantly refused to speak more on it though, and in the end Valeera mockingly saluted when they reached the canals and wandered off, faux-disappointed that she couldn’t get any more from him. Seamlessly, Anduin’s royal guard replaced her, coming from nowhere to trail behind him and Shaw as they made their way back to the keep. It wasn’t like he needed them with Shaw, though he guessed the majority of his citizens wouldn’t know their spymaster by face or even name, so he’d appear alone and unguarded to most.

These days, few people stopped to take notice of him; he did his best to be seen amongst his citizens as much as his father, and thankfully the novelty of him was wearing off. He was mostly ignored, or watched from afar, though children were usually brash enough to try and beg a coin or two. He was likely the biggest, if indirect, contributor to Ms McKeever’s sweet stall.

Shaw stopped him tossing the warming bag of meat to a stray dog though, deftly snatching it before Anduin had even opened it. It disappeared into the depths of his cloak.

“Don’t waste good meat on dogs Sire.” Shaw softly admonished him. “People go hungry in war, even if it’s at a ceasefire. They shouldn’t see their King tossing food to the beasts.”

He understood. “Thank you Shaw.”

They walked in silence until they reached the statue of his father and the safety of the castle. Safe, though not private. While the average citizen might have better things to worry about, the nobility often had ample time to sit around and wait for him, either for an audience or just to watch his comings and goings. His arrival so late in the afternoon would be idle chatter by evening. Even now he could see two nobles from the corner of his eye, so clearly watching him it was a wonder they’d survived their own political games for so long.

“King Wrynn.” Shaw spoke quietly still, all too aware of eavesdroppers. “I meant it, you did well. Your father wasn’t… A man of patience. You succeeded today where he wouldn’t. It… Surprised me, I’ll be honest. Pleasantly I mean.” It was a little back-handed, but Anduin felt a flutter of warmth at the words anyway. He knew Shaw was one of his biggest critics, polite and rational about Anduin’s flaws in leadership, and Anduin himself agreed with more or less every point he made. He had so much to prove, finding Sylvanas would be the start of it he knew, but in the meantime…

“Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Shaw nodded, and they parted ways. Anduin noticed his guard had ‘drifted’ off, giving him the illusion of privacy, of independence, but it was obvious to himself and every noble he passed who knew what and who to look for. A harried attendant rushed to meet him, word of his return clearly passed around quicker than ever. Would he like a late lunch or early dinner? Would he be changing clothes before meeting Sir Anthony? Would he need help dressing? Would this, would that and oh, Tyrande sent his message back unopened, would he like them to try again?

He escaped into his rooms, shedding half his clothes over a chair and tossing his boots in the vague direction of the fireplace. He collapsed onto an oversized armchair and grabbed blindly for one of many salves he kept stashed around his rooms. As he rubbed the warming ointment into his fingers and knees, he lamented that he almost missed the peace and quiet of the stockades.

* * *

“Well. Good luck Sire.” Shaw sounded weary, and Anduin truly couldn’t blame him. The initial success of their ‘questioning’ felt like a distant memory. A week later, and Stephon still refused to eat, couldn’t or wouldn’t talk, and clearly grew more agitated as their questioning went on and on. Valeera had stopped coming after the first three days, though still popped her head in if she ‘was passing by’, as if a twenty minute trek under their city was like popping in for a chat.

The bags under Shaw’s eyes were starting to deepen. Anduin had resorted to hiding his own with a smudge of makeup powder, which had discreetly appeared one day on his dressing table, next to his usual array of painkillers and potions. The King couldn’t look tired after all, not while they were at war, and definitely not while they were in some supposed armistice.

Every day they wasted time down here, Anduin felt Sylvanas slip ever deeper from his grasp. Alleria and Turalyon were back in the field, combing the continent one vague lead at a time. Baine questioned his reluctance to meet. Genn not only questioned his reluctance to meet, but was already on his way in the next day or two, unable to accept no for an answer. He just needed more time, but it slipped through his fingers day after day.

He wondered if he should give up on Stephon; it was a long shot anyway, and though his peers in the Argent Crusade would be disappointed, perhaps it would be better to hand him over to the Horde as an offering. They’d know better how to help him anyway. _‘We found him like this, please don’t suspect us of foul play.’_ Or maybe it would make things worse, Anduin couldn’t tell anymore.

He sighed as he walked into the cell. He was used to the smell of old blood and rot by now, but not the cold, and he pulled the fur-lined collar of his coat up around his face. He’d long given up on trying to appear above the cold, and had swapped out his usual formal wear and decorative armour pieces for pure practicality.

“Stephon, good afternoon.” Offer meat because he looked at him. He doesn’t take it. Put it back in the bag. Ramble on about something else. Shaw rustled behind him, but it’s so routine now that Stephon doesn’t look.

Anduin talked about anything that came to mind, just to fill the air and try and engage Stephon, looking for any trigger possible. How’s the weather? Was autumn in Stormwind much different to the Plaguelands? He heard it’s quite temperate up there, with the exception of warm currents and winds over the northernmost parts. Did Silvermoon even get cold? Stormwind was blessed by cool sea breezes in summer, but in winter it can get cold enough to ice your breath, especially if the winds change and you get air from Dun Morogh. On and on he spoke about anything until his throat was dry.

And for nothing. Stephon showed the same reaction to his rambling as he did to questions about the Horde or Argent Crusade. The only other reaction he’d shown was hostility if Anduin got too close, which they’d worked on until Anduin could pass by a step away from him with no issue.

There was no headway with this soft approach, but Anduin refused to resort to violence, and Shaw agreed that it likely wouldn’t achieve anything. ‘ _Torture only works when they know it can be avoided if they offer something. Otherwise it’s just abuse.’_

A week and such stagnant progress. How long had Sylvanas tried with Blightcaller? She didn’t seem like she’d have the patience, and the vague reports from spies in Tirisfal had suggested the ‘reconditioning’ was over in a handful of hours, not days. Definitely not weeks.

He was halfway through some spoken thought about Netherlight- _It’s beautiful, but very solemn. Have you been? I heard the Argent Crusade helped the Conclave during the third invasion_ -when he noticed Shaw move. Or moreover, he noticed Stephon look behind him and he turned to find Shaw frowning as he approached the door. Instinct had Anduin call to the Light, ready it at his fingers if he needed to fight. It was a mistake; this close to Stephon, the forsaken clearly felt the light pool around Anduin, settling like a second coat around him. He started screaming, a guttural wail that shocked Anduin enough he stumbled back in surprise. Shaw startled, whipped around with his dagger drawn, and from outside Anduin heard footsteps pounding along the corridor.

“Wait, Shaw it’s--”

The door slammed open. The priest and paladin on guard outside were shouting something, but held back from attacking as Genn Greymane stood in the doorway, his coat and shirt torn from an unplanned shift. His breathing was heavy, and Anduin saw his snout wrinkle as the smell of rot and blood hit him.

“Anduin, are you okay? I heard…” His eyes flashed. He breathed deeply.

Anduin barely had a second to cast the shield over Stephon as Genn launched at him, batting Shaw to the side like nothing.

“Genn! No! Stop!” Stephon was screaming, louder with the press of the shield around him, but fought back in a frenzy as Genn swiped at him. He couldn’t move though, the chains they’d anchored him to the floor with were too strong, so he could only writhe and spit and bite as Genn fell on him. The shield was enough to stop Genn’s claws drawing blood, but the force of his blows threatened to pull the chains from their moorings as he attacked mindlessly and hammered at the shield. Anduin felt his stomach roil when he realised it would soon break.

There was a commotion in the hall, the cell guards reluctant to stop the King, but more than happy to stop his Greyguard shoving into the room.

“GENN!” Anduin felt the darkness stir inside, a whisper of purple at the corners of his vision that he could barely control. “Enough!” It took everything to not blast Genn’s mind, to try and control him from the core of his being. Instead he managed a burst of holy power, enough to cause Genn to falter and stagger, and give Shaw enough time to sweep in and shove him away. Genn was caught off balance. He stumbled backwards a step, and the sudden daggers at his throat and stomach were thankfully enough to stop him trying to launch himself through Shaw again. Instead, seeing he couldn’t attack his target, he rounded on Anduin instead.

“The Blightcaller?! You captured him, and not only did you _not tell me_ , he still _lives_?!”

Purple swam in front of Anduin’s eyes. He had to have misheard.

Shaw stiffened, glanced over his shoulder at the still thrashing undead, but had enough sense to shove Genn forward and further away from their captive. He moved willingly, crowding over to Anduin who stood straighter, held his ground. The shadows whispered, but he kept the light close, willed his vision to clear.

“He’s not— this is Stephon Marris. Nathanos’ cousin, perhaps you’re mista—”

“You think I wouldn’t recognise the _stink_ of that filth anywhere?” He barely held himself back from snarling. “Who told you these lies? I will have their head as soon as I have Blightcaller’s.”

“King Greymane, perhaps we can have this discussion outside.” Shaw still had his daggers out and held at his side, but made an effort to try and look relaxed even as he clearly blocked Genn’s view of St-of their prisoner. He nodded tersely towards the door, and waited until Genn growled low in his chest but stalked out nonetheless.

Anduin shot their prisoner a glance over his shoulder as he followed Shaw out. Any progress they’d made was undone as he knelt, still thrashing and growling in his chains. Anduin could see the places where his light had burnt him, bright golden wounds a shock against the filth and grey of his skin. He pulled his coat tighter and bolted the door behind him.

* * *

“Genn please…” It was awkward and tight in the corridor. Between the four guards, both Anduin’s and the Greyguard, and Genn pacing up and down, Anduin was forced to stand to the side. Shaw stood ready opposite him, watching everything like a hawk. He knew down the corridor there were more of the usual stockades guard, and he didn’t think it would come to that, but it was tense and fraught. It took everything to keep the shadows at bay— he’d been practising since he lost control with Alleria, but Genn was angry and loud and bearing down on him, angry _with_ him, and it was a sudden shock from the calm he’d become used to down in these cells. It took him time to clear his head.

“Don’t, Anduin. You had him and you didn’t tell me? You could have ended this and you’re, what? Keeping him? Giving him back to the Horde?”

“Don’t! Don’t put words in my mouth!” He felt hot under his heavy coat even as his breath misted in the air. “Genn. Please. We’ve been under the assumption-”

“You _assumed_?” His sneer was all teeth.

“-that he is Stephon Marris, a paladin from the Argent Crusade. Related to Nathanos ‘Blightcaller’ Marris. We hoped to question him, but more so we’re holding him until we can send him home to his brothers, or the Horde.”

“You would give him back then?! After every--”

“If, and _only if_ , we could guarantee his identity. Genn, _truly_ do you think I would keep this from you if I suspected it were Nathanos in there? That I would undermine everything we’ve fought for? And for what?”

“Anduin, that’s not what I mean. How could you not know it was the Blightcaller? Who was your witness? I just... ” Genn huffed and seemed to shake himself. When he spoke next it was with a measure of calm Anduin knew was a facade. “Just, Anduin why didn’t you tell me? Even if it was just this ‘Stephon’?”

“Every man and woman who knew him at Light’s Hope Chapel confirmed that it looked like Stephon Marris. Alleria Windrunner confirmed he looks nothing like the Nathanos she knew in life, and enough like his cousin that it was a good chance. Regardless, they were unequipped at the Chapel to hold him, so I offered our help as both a fellow follower of the Light, and for potential information.”

It was painfully obvious that he avoided answering Genn’s final question. Anduin wasn’t sure he even had an answer, but he refused to back down. Genn was pacing again, but it at least seemed more in thought than anger.

“I’ll have a full report sent to you.” Anduin offered. He assumed Shaw’s idea of a full report and Genn’s might differ, but that argument could come later. “More importantly; can you confirm, _absolutely_ confirm, that it’s Nathanos Blightcaller in there?”

It was almost too much to hope for, too much of a coincidence. Too much _luck_.

“I’d recognise the stink anywhere, but I can confirm properly if I can see his face.” Genn grumbled, seemingly placated for now. He seemed lost in thought almost, and he shook himself again before they went back in. 

The order to not attack him went unsaid. It was Shaw who opened the door, putting himself discretely between them. Inside, their captive glared at Genn, snarling unlike anything Anduin had seen before, at least from something resembling a human.

“Stephon?” The undead’s gaze snapped to Anduin for a second, until Genn shoved closer and pushed into their captive’s space more than Anduin ever dared. One huge, furred hand shot forward and both Shaw and Anduin startled, but Genn simply shoved the hair out of the undead’s face with a look of disgust, fisting his hand in it to roughly push his head this way and that, looking from every angle. He ignored the frenzy of biting and fight from the undead, until he tossed his head back with a snarl, and wiped his hand on his coat as he turned around. His ears were pinned tightly back though, an instinct he couldn’t quite control.

“It’s him. Guaranteed. I don’t know what Windrunner thought she saw but this… _thing_ , is definitely Blightcaller. What will you do with him now?” Genn joined them by the wall. They all watched the undead— Nathanos— struggle and Anduin couldn’t help but stare.

 _Nathanos_. Here. They were so close, they just had to crack him. It was a gift of the light Anduin never would have thought possible. Truthfully, Anduin didn’t know what to do-- he’d never even considered this. He glanced at Shaw as discreetly as he could.

“We’ll adjust our methods and try tomorrow. Sire, if you could inform Lord Tyrosus? He’ll take this news better from you I feel.” Shaw spoke up for him, but his eyes didn’t stray from their captive.

“You’ll persevere with this… _Joke_ of an interrogation? You’ve nothing to show for it yet.” 

“We made progress to start, but it should go better if we’re calling him by his actual name, not his cousin’s.” Shaw remained level headed in the face of Genn’s belittlement. Anduin wished he could say the same of himself. He felt like a child again, caught out of bed after dark. “Give us another week King Greymane, we’ll have something, one way or another.”

“And the Horde?”

“A week. And then we’ll decide how, or if to tell them.”

“No. One week, and if you get nothing from him, give him to me. The Horde cannot have him, Shaw, or he’ll ‘escape’ before we even leave Orgrimmar.” Genn was bold to try and bargain, but Anduin felt powerless. When Shaw looked to him, he nodded his acceptance. If it got Genn off his back, then so be it, they’d just have to succeed.

It was clear Genn still wasn’t happy, but with a final snarl and disgusted once over of Nathanos, he nodded to them both. With a snort, as if to clear his nose, he left abruptly, leaving Anduin and Shaw to trail after him.

They left Nathanos to calm down. There wasn’t much else they could do with him for now, and any injuries from Genn would have to wait. The injuries from Anduin… he hoped wouldn't hurt too much.

Outside, Anduin noticed four more guards on the door, in leathers rather than the usual plate. One of them nodded to Shaw and offered a polite but uninterested nod to Anduin. He wondered how Shaw managed it. He wondered how many of Shaw’s agents he didn't see.


	3. One Forward, Two Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me grief bc it's a bit of a bridge chapter and they're kind of weird for me but hey it's progress to the stuff we actually want to write/read lol
> 
> tw; mind manipulation? but that sounds worse than it is I think. Also just, dehumanistion of a prisoner tbh

It was after lunch, and the keep was bustling with guests and servants. Even in the private wing of the royal family, the echoes and muffled sounds travelled through open windows and bounced through the bare corridors. Anduin was thankful for the privacy of his rooms; the guards outside could hear him in his parlour if he shouted, but if he closed the doors to his bedroom it was soundproofed with some common runes along the door frame. He’d checked the day he inherited the rooms, to ensure no one would hear him cry.

“Fuck!” He screamed into the mirror of his dressing table, refusing to look at himself as he swiped and choked down his afternoon pills and potion. They burnt his throat. “Just! _Fuck_!”

He thought he was above this, above the pettiness of the House of Nobles, above the stresses of leadership, but one backhanded comment on top of another, on top of everything he couldn’t control, everything that was so much _more_ than whatever tripe the House presented with him every week…

Every meeting these days he could only sit and stare at them arguing, expecting him to side with one or the other. _The night elves are on the verge of leaving the Alliance. The dead linger. There is still a giant_ fucking _sword stabbing into the planet, and you want me to weigh in on the wine that should be served at some lesser noble’s wedding?_ He wanted to scream it to them, be done with it all. Evidently, with the actual management of trade and commerce and civic duties all delegated to professionals, the House had nothing better to do with their time but strengthen their already inbred bloodlines and reputations.

He stalked to his bed, grabbed a pillow and yelled into it until he couldn’t breath. _When I stop this, I’m done. I will be calm. And patient. And forgiving of myself and others._

His muffled scream petered off. He didn’t feel calm.

He changed from his court clothes into a comfortable set of warm trousers and shirt. He still didn’t feel patient.

Eventually, standing in front of Nathanos’ cell door, huddled in his coat, he didn’t feel particularly forgiving either.

He glared at the door, for once ignoring the guards who dutifully pretended to ignore him in turn, and willed something like calm to come, almost begging the Light to help soothe his mind. Alas, he could already feel the cold in his hands despite his enchanted gloves, and his back still ached from sitting in on the weekly audience for so long. The Light felt far away.

With Nathanos’ guttural groans coming from behind the door, it was impossible to concentrate, and he only found himself growing more and more frustrated, until Shaw appeared silently at his side.

He gave Anduin a _look_.

Anduin ignored that as well. “Let’s just do this, please.” He didn’t wait for an answer, and roughly unbolted the door.

Nathanos was of course exactly where they left him. The burns on his face and exposed skin were still bright amongst the mess, and there seemed to be more blood and spit on his face and chest than yesterday. He’d probably bitten himself. Anduin found it hard to care.

“Nathanos Bl—” No. He took a deep breath. He couldn’t let his poor mood ruin everything. “Nathanos Marris.” Nathanos didn’t look up, just continued to stare hazily through him. Anduin crowded closer, and it was just enough to get him to tilt his head back a fraction and look quizzically at him through his hair. “Nathanos Marris. You are Nathanos Marris, of Lordaeron. Formally a Ranger Lord of Silvermoon. A skilled hunter. A human.”

Shaw discretely pushed a bag into his hand. Nathanos glanced at him, but Anduin was in no mood to be forgiving.

“No, look at me.” He snapped.

And… he did. Red eyes frowned under the stringy mess of his hair, but he looked back to Anduin slowly, as though he was truly seeing him for once. Shaw caught on, and Anduin heard him move behind him, drawing Nathanos’ attention again.

“Nathanos. Look at me.” He did. Anduin scrambled to open the bag, and used the long fork inside to offer the treat of meat. Nathanos snarled, immediately full of ‘life’ and tried to pull back from it as Anduin held it to his face. He didn’t get far of course, but Anduin took the treat back anyway, repeating to himself mentally that he couldn’t try and force the progress no matter how much he wanted to.

“You are Nathanos Marris, of Lordaeron. You were a human ranger. You are in Stormwind.” The script Shaw had left on his desk that morning was dull, a repetitive string much like they used with ‘Stephon’, but tailored more to what they knew of Nathanos. He hoped it worked because he doubted his rambling about the weather would.

Nathanos stared blankly. Shaw moved again, Nathanos’ growl grew as he glanced over to him.

“Nathanos.” Anduin’s voice was hard. Nathanos snapped back to glaring at Anduin. He offered the treat. It wasn’t taken.

They continued for a couple of hours, until Anduin heard the guard change in the hall. He tried not to sigh as he pulled Nathanos’ focus back to him for the umpteenth time, and offered a treat. It was surprisingly… Not calming, just tedious, but the monotony helped him settle his frustration from the morning.

Especially when that time… Nathanos seemed to consider it. Didn’t bare his teeth and pull away or glare warily at the fork like it would hurt him. Anduin held it out, until he thought his arm might tire and eventually, after more consideration than a chunk of room-warm meat warranted, Nathanos took it.

It was undignified; he had to strain at the chains around his neck to reach, but he caught it with his filthy, crooked teeth and glared at Anduin as he swallowed it whole, like he thought Anduin might take it back somehow if he hesitated.

The bloom of warmth in Anduin’s stomach felt heady, like a weight was lifted even for a moment.

“Good boy.” He said it before he caught himself, but it didn’t seem to garner a reaction from Nathanos despite the creep of a hot blush that Anduin felt rise up his face. Anduin resolutely didn’t look back at Shaw, because light only knew what he’d think about _that_.

They did it again. Distract. Call. Treat.

This time Nathanos was quicker to snatch it off the fork, though still didn’t even blink as he choked it down, like it was a test or a trick. He only stopped staring at Anduin to cough a moment, more black fluid joining the mess on his chin.

Again. And again. On the fourth time, Nathanos didn’t even glance at Shaw, just waited. By the sixth, he sat patiently, quietly rumbling in his throat with his mouth ajar, waiting for the next treat.

He chewed it that time, a little anyway.

They continued until Nathanos stopped looking at Shaw at all, and then until the bag was empty.

“Good Nathanos, this was good. I think this is enough for one day though— you did well Nathanos. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nathanos watched him until he shut the door. As Anduin bolted the locks back into place, the growls started up again, though so much quieter than before, and Anduin supposed that was progress too.

He felt light, hopeful. He’d completely forgotten about his travesty of a morning and even when he remembered, found he didn’t care as much as he had earlier.

“That was excellent.” Shaw spoke under his breath, likely worried that Nathanos might hear them and be able to understand them now. “That was more progress in an afternoon than we’ve had in the previous week. Tomorrow, we’ll start planting the seeds for interrogation, give him questions to think on while we’re not here.”

“Is it not too soon?”

“Even if he can’t speak or know himself, if the words rattle around in his head it might trigger something. It’s worth trying.”

“I bow to your judgement.” Anduin teased. He felt like he could float, like hope was blooming again. Shaw simply waved him off, but Anduin saw the hint of a smile before Shaw turned to hide it.

* * *

“Your name is Nathanos Blightcaller, formally Marris. You served the Banshee Queen, Sylvanas Windrunner, in life and undeath. You’ve been missing since the battle at the gates of Orgrimmar. Where have you been? Who were you with? Where is Sylvanas?” Anduin asked the undead at his feet. He tried to sound firm, but it was tiring. His legs already ached though he refused to use the chair Shaw occasionally nudged with his foot.

A blank look, but Nathanos was focused on Anduin at least, and after a couple of distractions, he’d even stopped glancing at Shaw every time he moved. Valeera was back tomorrow though, so it would be interesting to see if he was as calm with her in the room.

“Your name is Nathanos Blightcaller, formally Marris…” He held the sheet of questions and prompts, but didn’t bother to look at it. He knew everything on there by heart by now and if it wasn’t drilled into Nathanos’ head, it certainly felt like it’d be in his until he died.

At least Nathanos had stopped growling— Anduin’s throat was less sore now he didn’t have to try and speak over the noise. Until the guard outside changed anyway. No matter how silent they were, Anduin could always tell by the change in Nathanos’ behaviour. It unnerved Shaw.

“You lived in the Marris Stead, with your cousin, and served Silvermoon as a Ranger. Sylvanas Windrunner personally promoted you. You have served her most of your adult life, and undeath, but she’s nowhere to be found. Do you know where she is?”

And on, and on. Nathanos just looked, and warily took treats from Anduin when he didn’t get distracted, or frankly just when Anduin grew bored enough and wanted to breathe for a moment. He never stopped watching.

When they left him, it was silent in his cell.

* * *

Valeera joined them on the ‘third’ day, much to Nathanos’ clear dislike. It took some time before he focused on Anduin again, and Valeera didn’t hide her displeasure with either their methods or that it was the Blightcaller. She was quiet of course, she was too well trained not to be, but Anduin felt it in her stare, in the stiff way she held herself despite her lounging act and the way she’d barely kept from rolling her eyes when Nathanos looked at her.

In the end, it was a short session, with frayed nerves and minimal progress; Nathanos didn’t ignore Valeera as easily as Shaw, perhaps because she bore a resemblance to Sylvanas though Anduin didn’t see it. Maybe it was just the ears.

Shaw subtly called it to an end before they ruined any headway they’d made anyway, and the walk back to the keep was awkward in a way Anduin hadn’t felt with them for years. Valeera didn’t tease either of them this time, and Anduin missed her smile already.

Valeera also didn’t tell him what was bothering her, though Anduin found a small paper bag of sweets on his desk later. His favourite from childhood it turned out—a chewy fruit flavoured thing he could never remember the name of— which was more than enough of an apology for something as simple as a bad mood. He hid them in the drawer, though still worked through half of the bag when it came time to get on with the never ending paperwork of his station.

* * *

Moonlight streamed in through the open curtains of Anduin’s room, casting everything in a pale glow that would have been comforting usually. Instead it just highlighted the mess he’d left on the floor and the pile of work near his desk.

Anduin stared at his clothes on the floor from his bed. He couldn’t sleep. He _should_ get on with the growing stack of paperwork; if he couldn’t rest, then he may as well be productive after all, but the thought rattled around his head even as he made no effort to get up. He wasn’t even comfortable, just dimly aware that his neck hurt from the odd angle he’d found himself in, but he made no move to change it.

Four days left, before they agreed to hand Nathanos over to Greymane, and with it their hope of finding Sylvanas. He liked Genn, trusted him with most things, but the treatment of Nathanos wasn’t one of them. If he’d wanted Nathanos reduced to a tortured, useless husk he’d have told Shaw to whisk him away somewhere by now. It would certainly have saved him some trouble.

‘ _A king shouldn’t lower himself to this’_ . Genn might have left the cell in a quiet, if foul mood, but he’d certainly had enough to say that night at dinner, and again before he left the next day. _‘Give him to me or Shaw, you have more important things to worry about Anduin. This isn’t good for you.’_ Genn was the only one who seemed to think so.

Besides, Genn had plenty to say about Anduin involving himself with Nathanos’ questioning, but there wasn’t a doubt in Anduin’s mind that if Genn were in his position, he wouldn’t leave the cell until Nathanos was broken or dead by his hand.

He rolled over, straightened his neck and huffed at the crack. He was being unreasonable. He knew it. Genn would have a different approach but he was… Anduin recalled the fighting on the Broken Isles, how Genn went against orders to engage. _Maybe_ , he’d be fine.

Unless Anduin wanted to find out, he’d better work out a way to get Nathanos talking soon.

He rolled again. Stared at the blue canopy above his bed. Idly he thought that he was lucky he was blond and blue suited him because it’s all he seemed to surround himself with.

The last time he commissioned a new coat, they hadn’t even asked the colour. It simply turned up a week later, a rich royal blue that he hadn’t even thought about.

His thoughts drifted. He wondered if he’d suit green. Wondered if anyone would say anything if he started wearing a drab Gilnaen grey. The style up north was often odd to him, miserable even. Dour. Clothes and hair were functional. If he were Genn’s son he’d still wear his hair short. Maybe he should cut it anyway, but he liked it long. As a boy he always wanted hair as long and thick as his father’s... What would his father do with Nathanos? Probably kill him, or leave him to Shaw. Anduin doubted he’d get so involved anyway. He missed him so much. He’ll grow his hair. What was Nathanos’ doing right now? Oh, of course; he couldn’t even move. They don’t sleep either. It must be boring. Anduin was so bored these days. Listless despite the work that piled up. Maybe he’d get better results if Shaw wasn’t there. Why was there so much blue? Even his chair cushions? His father had a huge red armchair when he lived in these quarters, where was it now?

The thoughts wouldn’t stop, until, some way or another they moved onto Prophet Velen, onto his time training in the light, onto…

_Alleria used the void to probe at people’s minds. Could I?_

He’d never thought about it before, even if he’d read of such mind control long before she’d used it. It was just a coin flip to his own discipline, one he wasn’t supposed to tamper with or use beyond necessity, and truly even thinking about it when he was younger would have made him feel ill.

He didn’t know many shadow priests in person—they tended to avoid the more holy churches and temples—but where there was light there was shadow and it was a thin line to walk between them. He was diligent and careful not to slip too much into the shadow himself, but it was becoming harder recently. It seemed so much more reactive to his moods than the light ever was, gave itself freely and fully with so little effort.

He knew it was a warning, that he should be focusing now more than ever on discipline and faith. But… Maybe…

Four days. If they didn’t get him ‘fixed’ then he’d be lost and with it their best chance of finding her.

He was sitting up before he even thought about it. A casual plain robe thrown over his nightshirt. Socks on. Boots on. Quickly he dug around in the back of his wardrobe for an old travelling cloak he saved for ‘outings’ such as this, and he was ready.

He opened his window, and looked to the lake outside. It was pitch black, but lamps dotted the edge, and besides, he’d been doing this since he was a child; back then his rooms had overlooked a courtyard so this was child’s play in comparison.

He jumped hard enough to clear the wall. Relished the thrill of falling for a brief moment before clearing his mind, calling on the light to aid him.

When Velen taught him this, he doubted he’d intended its use for mischief, but needs must. Besides, jumping from things the second they learnt the spell was a time-honoured tradition amongst novices. Nothing taught faith and trust in the light like the fear of breaking your legs jumping from a rooftop.

He drifted down slowly, invisible against the black of the lake, until he was just above an unlit part of the shoreline, where he landed with a stumble and a soft grunt. So many years later, and he still couldn’t get the landing right.

From there it was simple enough to edge around the walls of the keep, until he found one of the secret passageways leading to the tunnel network below Stormwind. Shaw probably knew there was an entrance here, but Valeera had pressed a key into his hands years ago and assured him ‘ _no one_ knows _that you know and that’s the secret to being a good rogue_.’

Shaw would know he’d been down here though. He could hide the entrance he used, but he couldn’t hide from the guards outside the cell door. But that was a problem for tomorrow, and it wouldn’t matter if he got results anyway, so he simply lowered his hood and the guards were confused but let him in. After a subtle dispelling charm, at least. He was polite and held still as it washed over him, and with a nod and apologetic smile from the priest on duty they let him pass.

And then just like that, he was alone with Nathanos. His idle thoughts took him there and there was only one thing left to do.

_Reach out._

No, that would be… No. Nathanos looked confused as well. He’d begun growling as the door opened, but it faded off when Anduin stepped in. He looked sleepy, almost like he was woken up, but Anduin knew the undead didn’t sleep, so maybe he was just resting.

“Nathanos.” Red eyes locked on to him, unfocused but they followed Anduin as for once pulled the old chair over from the table. “I’m afraid I forgot to bring treats this time. I.. There’s something I wish to try but maybe I should wait for you to uh, wake up first.”

There was no reply, but Nathanos kept watching and Anduin felt almost awkward in the silence without Shaw backing him up, so he started with what he knew. It went off track almost immediately.

“Nathanos Marris of Lordaeron. A gifted ranger. Gifted enough to attract Sylvanas’ attention anyway. You know, you were a farmer before right? I don’t know what. Maybe crops? Sheep? Honestly I’m not sure what farmers… farm. I should… I should find out.” He went so off-script it wasn’t even funny, but Nathanos kept watching and Anduin couldn’t seem to stop himself, like this was the first time he’d been able to speak freely since… A tent in Pandaria. “I shouldn’t think about that. You wouldn’t know him anyway. Maybe. I’m not sure what you know. Hopefully where Sylvanas is. Or where she was. Or what she wants. Other than to kill everyone, but that seems to be standard practice for a lot of people we fight these days.

“But, a ranger. Skilled. You were a hero of Lordaeron you know. I think your name is on a plaque somewhere, or was. People don’t like you so it’s likely been scratched off. I shouldn’t worry; I don’t think people like me much either these days.” He couldn’t seem to stop himself from saying any thought that came to mind, no matter how much or little it mattered to the task at hand. He forced himself not to drift off into another train of thought, and it was then that he noticed Nathanos was almost… Sneering? Frowning? It was something at least, and looked a little pained if he were honest, but maybe this was his shot.

A deep breath. It would be fine. He wasn’t looking to control, simply check that Nathanos was still in there. If he didn’t push, or pull, or whatever it was that Alleria did to get her answers, surely it would be fine? He thought back to the books he’d once read, the memorised theory he’d never intended to use. Another deep breath.

“Please just, relax.”

It was no effort at all to dip his toes into the shadow; it was always so willing to offer itself up while the light took so much concentration. He leaned forward on his knees and stared into Nathanos’ Half-hidden eyes, and with a breath and a blink, he could feel the slip and shift inside him. It was like being in two bodies at once, unable to fully control either, but he could feel Nathanos around him, sense what to do or think to make him do whatever he wanted.

He doesn’t want that, not yet. Not ever. Instead, he let himself adjust and drift, trusting his instincts and it led him to a sort of… thought. It was hazy, like trying to remember a dream after you’ve woken up. More sense than thought, and he followed it, watched it unravel into emotions and just-out-of-reach images. There was so much anger and hate it threatened to swamp him, but Anduin’s will was stronger and he let it wash over him, until he could ignore it and focus on the smaller emotions, the tiny threads that twisted and reached through everything. Obsession. Devotion. Shame. The thinnest wisp of love. It permeated everything, and even if the memories weren’t clear yet, they’re there, just locked away until Nathanos can sort them.

It was better than he ever could have hoped.

Anduin pulled back gently, eased himself out without disturbing anything. His eyes felt dry and he had to blink a few times to clear them, but when he did Nathanos looked no worse for wear. His eyes were distant, unfocused, but he wasn’t agitated or in pain like Jaina reported Alleria’s subjects to be. Good.

“Nathanos?” It took a moment, but Nathanos blinked and his eyes found Anduin. “That was good, great actually. You’re doing well. How do you feel?” He barely kept himself from saying ‘good boy’ again… He wasn’t sure he liked the warmth in his gut when he thought the words.

Nathanos was groggy, slumped in his chains, and just looked blearily at him through the strings of hair that fell in his face. Anduin’s hand moved before he thought about it, and he didn’t even realise what he was doing until he was pushing the hair from Nathanos’ face, tucking it carefully behind his ear.

Light but he was lucky Nathanos was so out of it, and rather than bite his hand off, Nathanos simply blinked and swayed a little. Anduin absolutely refused to imagine that he pushed into his hand.

All at once what he did hit him. He was standing there, alone with an enemy—his captive— at who-knew-what time of the morning, after delving into his mind without thinking, without training without…

He snatched his hand back. Nathanos just blinked at him. He felt sick.

Anduin managed to mumble out some sort of farewell, for all it mattered, as he shoved his way out of the room. The guards were silent as he left.

He felt cold despite his cloak, and had to stop at the mouth of an alley to collect his breath and stop himself from heaving. There was too much to think about, too many thoughts rattling around his head and he couldn’t focus, couldn’t breathe.

A rat ran over his boot, and it startled him enough to kick start his lungs again. He was fine, it would be fine, he had to tell himself.

_For the greater good_ whispered about his head like smoke and he knew it was true as much as he knew they were words terrible people had used so many times before him.

He’d think about it later, for now, he had to get back to his rooms before something else went wrong. With a deep breath he set off, hurried down the streets and along the canals until he was scaling the ivy up his wall, following the route he knew Valeera took when she appeared in his window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention my eternal gratitude to my beta reader, without whom this would be a pile of hot trash lol, the sheer number of tense changes I can go though in one paragraph... incredible... <3


	4. Coming Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a nightmare to edit but I think I got there in the end >:3c
> 
> Warnings today are the 'standard' dehumanisation, and a bit more on the mind-rape? mind... break? Anduin goes poking around in there anyway

King Greymane’s visit was unannounced, and Anduin didn’t realise it was happening until Genn was standing next to him in the throne room before his weekly… Well, audience was too generous. ‘Mother’s meeting’ felt far more apt.

Genn was Anduin’s close friend, confident and a beloved father figure to him, but he took far too many liberties and expected too much of Anduin’s time and patience sometimes. And, as Anduin watched him charm and chatter with the court and guests, made Anduin look bad by simply being so much better than him.

No, that was definitely his bad mood talking. Genn was supportive and good to him and only had the best interests of his people and the Alliance at heart. It wasn’t his fault that Anduin had barely slept the night before, and it certainly wasn’t his fault his painkillers weren’t pulling their weight today.

Anduin smiled when prompted, offered thanks and condolences when it was right, but it was practised and felt hollow, while Genn always sounded sincere. He should be good at this he thought, as he offered a warm smile to a lesser noblewoman being introduced to him; he was raised in this court, had barely left the throne room for much of his childhood, but he could never get the cues right and felt obvious when he lied. And so much of this room seemed to be about lying these days.

“ It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’re Sir Lancaster’s niece? I believe I know of your cousin.” Her smile tightened when he mentioned her cousin, a priest he knew of in passing. He’d ruined it already.

“ Patrice? Yes, she spoke of you, how you help in the healing wards occasionally. She had much to say about your gift with the Light.” It’s a tempting opening, but he knows from experience if he talks about the light for too long, people will get bored.

“ She’s a remarkable teacher.” He knew he needed to drag this back to… The woman whose name he missed. He wanted it to end. “And you, are you gifted at all with it?”

“ Alas, my talents lay elsewhere. Economics, maths and trade like my father.”

“ She learned from the best.” Her father, so keen to let them talk, butted in. “Julia here,” —oh thank the light— “has a sharp mind for numbers and logistics. She’s made me and the family proud.” He seemed genuine in his praise, proud and happy with his daughter, but Anduin had no idea why it was any of his business.

He’d no sooner thought it than Genn came over to introduce himself, taking Julia’s hand cordially and bowing, nodding to her father.

“ You’ve grown since we last met Miss Lancaster. And your family’s fortune grows with you. My King, Sir Giles Lancaster has been of much help with our efforts to rebuild Gilneas, their family excels in foreign import and trade.”

Anduin smiled and nodded, made some sort of noise that he hoped was right.

The father, Giles, puffed up with pride. “We’re only too happy to help the kingdom after all. And now that we’ve established the routes, I feel it’s time to invest even more.”

“ Oh?” Anduin had no idea what they were talking about. He’d mostly left trade and commerce to people he knew could handle it, and read a report weekly which addressed the most pressing issues. He glanced at Julia to see her smile frozen in place, though she brightened when she noticed Anduin looking to her.

“ Now that we’ve established the import routes, we can settle in Stormwind more permanently.” Giles continued.

“ Oh! Then, you have my sincerest welcome to the city. I hope you find it a good home.” said Anduin. He gave them his best smile.

“ Indeed, Julia is always welcome in court.” Genn sounded strained which meant Anduin had said something wrong but he couldn’t work out what it was. Giles offered them both a tight smile and a nod, and the conversation turned to the weather before too long.

It was a full morning of mingling, of chatting and networking and Anduin felt like he’d achieved nothing.

* * *

“ Please tell me before you come to check on me next time Genn.” Anduin was tired, slumped in his throne while Genn stood before him.

“ I apologise Anduin, it was unintentional- I didn’t receive Lancaster’s letter until this morning.”

“ Letter?”

“ That he would be in attendance this morning. We’re friends, or friendly enough. I wanted to make sure his introduction to court went well.”

“ He seemed nice enough. I hope he enjoys his time here.” Anduin’s head throbbed. He need to go to his rooms and change, collect a potion or two before meeting Shaw in the afternoon.

“ And his daughter?” Genn pressed.

“ She seems… fine?” Anduin felt like he was failing a test. His head was too foggy from no sleep, he couldn’t work out what Genn wanted from him.

Genn rubbed at his temples, started pacing before him. Anduin watched him stride and turn twice before Genn finally spoke again. “She’ll be twenty this year. Her family are respectful, minor nobility on the up with no illicit history which is, frankly, incredible in this day and age. Shaw’s done an extensive background check. She’s a good match Anduin.”

It took him a moment to wipe the confusion of his face in favour of something more neutral. “A match?”

“ Marriage Anduin! Are you den—” Genn breathed deeply. Paced. Pinched the bridge of his nose. “I apologise for my outburst. Anduin, please tell me you’ve thought on this. You don’t have to marry her, but please tell me you’ve other options lined up? Or at least thought about?”

Anduin felt cold. He had no such thing. The last time Genn had brought the topic up, had mentioned his own daughter, he’d made some excuse and promptly forgotten about it.

“ I ah, I’ve been busy. It’s not been on my mind.”

“ Of course. But that’s another reason to push on with it; a royal wedding will buoy the kingdom after these dark times, a reason to celebrate and forget for a while. Your father’s celebration was only a week or so, but I think we could push yours to two. A huge event to mark the beginning of a new era of hope and peace.”

Anduin had no words. His mind was caught on ‘two weeks’ for some reason, like that was the biggest of his worries and not the potential fall out of marrying a woman he didn’t know.

Well, marrying a woman full stop really.

“ Once… Once we’ve found Sylvanas, I’ll find someone. Until then, she’s my biggest concern.  _ Our _ biggest concern.” That was reasonable, he thought. Genn seemed to agree and nodded, though his shoulders were down and he looked disappointed. Anduin couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty.

“ Then in the interest of finding her as soon as possible, show me how you’re getting on with Blightcaller.”

Anduin’s headache throbbed behind his eyes.

* * *

“ He looks no different.” Genn, big and shifted and intimidating, sneered down at Nathanos, who Anduin thought had been remarkably well behaved so far. Minimal growling on seeing Genn, and he’d quietened when Anduin called his attention and took his treat without snatching. Good, but not good enough.

“ He’s calmer, starting to trust me. I think that’s the key to it, giving him time to think and realise.”

“ You could call Alleria back, force it from him now you know what you’re dealing with.” Genn commented, not taking his eyes from Nathanos.

A ripple of possessiveness soured Anduin’s stomach. He didn’t want anyone else in Nathanos’ mind, though he couldn’t pinpoint why, just that the thought alone had his hackles up. He clicked his fingers, called Nathanos’ attention and gave him a treat. He instantly felt better.

“ She’s in Stormheim, on a potential lead to Sylvanas, but it’s not a bad idea.” He wanted to touch Nathanos, hold his neck but he controlled himself, offered another treat up instead and hushed Nathanos when Genn started to pace and walk around.

Whether Genn realised it or not, he was helpful though; he pushed where Anduin couldn’t, paced around him and got too close as he checked over his chains and bonds and made noises behind him. His intimidation only pushed Nathanos further into Anduin’s ‘safe’ grip, and though it left a sour taste in his mouth, Anduin couldn’t deny the effectiveness. There was a curl of  _ something _ inside him when Nathanos leaned towards him, away from Genn, and opened his mouth slightly. Begged.

Despite his guilt from the night before, Anduin desperately wanted to dip into Nathanos’ mind again, to see if the connections were building or clearer.  _ Control him _ , whispered something intrusive, but he willed it away. He couldn’t do anything like that with Genn and Shaw nearby; Genn might sanction Alleria’s use of the void, but she wasn’t the  _ king _ . Anduin truly doubted he’d remain king or even alive long if he started showing signs of being in touch with the void, not while they still licked their wounds from N’Zoth.

And Shaw… Shaw hadn’t mentioned anything about Anduin’s lone trip. He had to know, surely? But Anduin would feign innocence until it was brought up. Or maybe he approved? Who could say, but Anduin didn’t know his stance on shadow magic and he wasn’t prepared to find out with him at his back.

Eventually, Genn tired of watching Nathanos stare at Anduin, though when they went to dinner and the conversation of marriage came up, Anduin wished he was back in the cell.

* * *

Genn’s untimely appearance had unsettled Anduin, driven home the deadline. Four days and a calm undead who liked staring at him wasn’t good enough he knew, but he couldn’t push Nathanos with people there, so it was to be another sleepless night.

He slipped out of his window like he was a child again, sneaked through his own city like a thief. It was almost thrilling, and he remembered why he’d spent so many nights out as a child, wandering the city and poking about where he shouldn’t. In hindsight he must have had  _ someone _ following him, he was too clumsy not to be noticed, and nothing bad had ever happened. He offered a silent thanks to whoever it had been.

If he were caught now he doubted anything would happen, but he didn’t want a lesson about ‘caution’ from the head guard, and definitely didn’t want more guards following him everywhere.

Shaw’s guards at least seemed to trust him, or have orders, who could say. Regardless, they let him slip into the cell with a quick identity check, and once more Anduin was alone with Nathanos, who didn’t even startle at his presence when he roused him from whatever rest he sunk into.

Or perhaps he could smell the meat; this trip was planned, not just an impulse of a sleepless night, and he’d come prepared with warmer clothes and a handful of scraps from dinner wrapped in a napkin.

“ Nathanos. Good evening.” No noise, just staring and…

And his mouth opened, slightly, ready for a treat. Anduin swallowed, ignored the curl in his gut, and fumbled the napkin out of his pocket. It was— he forgot to bring a fork. Shit.

Nathanos waited, and his eyes flickered between Anduin’s hands and his face.

“ Right. Okay. Right… If you— if you bite me, the burns will be the least of your worries, okay?” Nathanos waited silently, his mouth opened a little wider. “Right…”

Anduin took a scrap of chicken and was glad to be wearing leather gloves, not cloth, when the grease stained them a little. He was slow as he moved into Nathanos’ space, but the undead just tilted his head back, his neck straining against the collar and chains that kept him locked in place. He kept the scrap high, kept Nathanos’ head tilted back so he couldn’t try and lunge to bite him, but he needn’t have worried. Nathanos took it gently enough, like he knew he could hurt Anduin if he bit it off like he did with the fork.

Anduin didn’t notice his other hand move until he saw it wrapped snugly around Nathanos’ neck, keeping it tilted back as he tried to chew. He felt him struggle to swallow, stroked his thumb against Nathanos’ throat as he forced it down. His throat was bare, unlike his face and jaw which were protected by his beard. Oddly vulnerable. Anduin was too close, he should have stepped away immediately, but he ignored the potential danger.

“ G-good boy.” Anduin choked out and Nathanos rumbled. It was inaudible but he could feel it where his hand still stroked against his throat. He needed to leave. Gain distance.

Instead he slipped his hand into his pocket, and pulled out another scrap. Nathanos watched his face, even as he pushed the scrap to his lips, pushed it into his mouth and intentionally grazed his teeth with the back of his finger. With his head tilted so harshly, it was clearly hard to chew or swallow, and the collar cut in tight enough he could see the bruising below his jaw, nearly hidden by his beard but not enough.

Anduin didn’t relent, simply waited and stroked while Nathanos managed to get it down.

“ That’s really good Nathanos…” He brushed the hair out of his face with his hand, probably smeared chicken grease into it, not that it mattered with the filth already saturating it.

It was so easy to slip inside his mind, Anduin didn’t even need to think about it. One moment he was himself, the next he was caught between two bodies, two minds, and could feel the thrum of Nathanos all around him. It was brighter than yesterday, though that probably wasn’t the right word for it. There were threads, connections and streams of almost-thought, that he could dip his hand into and twist and control if he chose to. He  _ wanted _ to. He didn’t.

He drifted with them instead, followed the thinner ones, decided on one that felt almost like love, until he was watching the Marris Stead through so many eyes it was hard to tell what he was looking at. It was images upon images, all imposed over the other, the homestead bright, warm and inviting from one angle, at the same time he was looking at it from above, smoldering. A husk. He saw it from every season, every angle, all at once. Sometimes, there was a man who looked like Nathanos, sometimes someone who looked like Sylvanas. They changed too, alive and dead; healthy and rotten.

Threads wove in and out, like links he could follow if he felt like it, but there was too much for the moment and Anduin felt dizzy with it. It was harder to drag himself back carefully, without ripping himself free, but he managed to follow the threads until he found himself again, until he was looking down at Nathanos, one hand gently stroking his throat and the other in his hair.

Nathanos looked tired. He was limp in Anduin’s hands, and he held onto him until something like life returned to his eyes. When he felt like Nathanos wouldn’t slump, he pulled back a little, but a tiny whine he felt more than heard stopped him.

He stood there for what felt like half the night, petting his captive like an injured dog.

When Nathanos calmed, and Anduin was finally able to leave, he at least made it to the bank of the lake before he had to stop lest he vomit. With his head pressed against the cool stone of the wall, he breathed deeply, wanting to drag his hands over his face but he could smell the filth on his gloves from touching Nathanos. Their captive. Prisoner. This was beyond manipulation; it bordered on abuse.

His gut roiled. His cock was half-hard. His prayers that night didn’t help him sleep.

* * *

Anduin was sore as he waited for Shaw and Valeera. Two nights of scaling a wall, no sleep and morning training had left him tired. He hadn’t let his instructors go easy on him, and though his training focused far more on keeping his body moving at all, let alone pushing it to its limits, he was still feeling the ache.

Potions helped with the pain, but the deep ache in his bones wasn’t even affected by his healing magic. Coffee helped with the mind at least, and he shared a flask with Shaw’s guards who were more open to idle chatter than the royal guards he was used to. Though he realised they talked a lot, and didn’t actually say much.

When they arrived Shaw looked more tired than usual. He accepted a cup of coffee from a guard, and tossed Anduin the usual paper bag of meat. Valeera made idle chatter with the guards while Shaw finished his drink, caught up on what she’d missed with Genn the day before.

“ He should mind his own business. You know he’d have words to say if we tried to intervene with one of his prisoners.”

Anduin hummed, didn’t agree or disagree with her, but she caught his eye and winked like she knew exactly how he felt.

They slipped in quietly.

“ Good afternoon Nathanos.” Eyes on him, a small noise when he saw Shaw and Valeera walk in behind him, but otherwise the usual single focused concentration. Anduin slipped his hand into the bag for a reward.

There wasn’t a fork. Anduin looked to double check. It wasn’t beef this time either. Perfectly cut cubes of cooked chicken

He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Shaw, who simply watched his reaction with a raised eyebrow. After a beat, Shaw nodded so subtlety Anduin would have missed it if he weren’t staring.

So, Shaw  _ definitely _ knew. And was, okay so not exactly fine with it perhaps, but fine enough to keep going. Anduin thought he could have gotten the message across in a slightly less terrifying way mind you.

Still, he was glad he wore another pair of thick gloves.

He offered the cube up, didn’t step anywhere near as close as he did the night before, but Nathanos still tilted his head, bared his throat, and Anduin forced his free hand into a fist to stop him from reaching for it.

Nathanos was gentle, swallowed it easier without Anduin’s hand on his throat. Anduin had to swallow as well before he started on a vague outline of the original script.

“ Nathanos Blightcaller, formally Marris. Ranger of Lordaeron. Last seen in service to the Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner. When the Scourge came you defended us in life, but in your undeath you have fought against us. You are held captive in Stormwind, and will be released to the Horde once we’re done questioning you. We ask you, where is Sylvanas Windrunner? Where did you last see her?”

He rattled the words off and settled in to wait, expected nothing more than the usual really, but…  _ something _ crossed Nathanos’ face, either confusion or pain, a grimace of… Something.

“ Nathanos?” Anduin’s breath was in his throat. “If you can’t talk to us in the next day or so, we’ll be handing you over to King Genn Greymane, and his methods will be… They won’t be good for you.” Anduin swallowed again. They all watched Nathanos wince and his eyes screw shut in pain, finally dropping the constant stare. This was it, the crux. He could feel it, if they wanted anything he’d have to act. He thought of Shaw and Valeera at his back, of the guards outside. If he didn’t do this right, then…

Oh but  _ fuck it. _

Anduin crowded closer, within biting range if Nathanos really tried, but he didn’t, simply looked up and made a broken noise and Anduin couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

He slipped in without trying, with barely a thought or effort. He knew it should be harder than this but that was a problem for later, when he was feeling guilty in bed and trying to convince himself he was doing the right thing. Now, he had to be quick. If either rogue saw the purple fogging his eyes or gathering at his fingertips, that would be it for him and Nathanos both.

Be quick. Instinct never failed him yet.

He saw the threads. Thicker, stronger now and so many, all woven and gathered and looped into a mess of sensation and feeling and thoughts. He trusted his gut, trusted his heart and reached for one that felt vivid in a way the others didn’t. He grabbed it. Pulled.

_ Come back, Nathanos. _

He pulled out. Came back to himself full as he tried not to sway. Shook the purple from his fingers. He thanked anything that might listen that Shaw and Valeera were so focused on Nathanos they didn’t seem to sense any strangeness from him. He didn’t have a dagger to his throat at least.

Anduin calmed his breath, and all three of them watched, stood still and on edge. It felt like hours but was likely just minutes, until Nathanos shivered and slumped and twitched in his bonds.

Anduin felt a hand on his elbow, and stepped back obediently when Valeera tugged.

Nathanos heaved, deep breaths that sounded painful from his dry throat. He tried to hunch, curl in on himself, but the chains held him up, head forced high even as he struggled on his knees, but it didn’t stop him trying and the bruises along his jaw turned to cuts with the effort. He sobbed with the effort, a low wail with hitched breaths and it hurt to hear, to feel his pain. His eyes were wide, wild and sightless, irises pinpricks of yellow in the glow of red. He didn’t seem to see any of them.

And then, like his strings were cut suddenly, he was still, panting and slack in the chains. The collar cut into him when he slumped, the only thing holding him up. He blinked his eyes open and seemed to stare through the wall. Distant and haunted. With a whine and a cough, he struggled to pull himself up enough so the collar wouldn’t choke him, but gave up almost immediately. Anduin ached to pull him up.

“… Syl…” Nathanos rasped out. He was so quiet it was barely audible.

Anduin held his breath. Valeera’s grip on his arm was tight. He couldn’t look at Shaw, didn’t want to glance away from Nathanos as he coughed and choked in case he missed something. It worked, somehow  _ something _ worked and it felt like a rush to his head.

Nathanos croaked something out in Gutterspeak, groaned as he shuffled and heaved and got his weight under himself properly again. Anduin tugged out of Valeera’s grip and stood between them and Nathanos. It took a while for Nathanos to find the strength to lift his head and focus on him.

“ Lion…” he wavered and tried to keep his eyes on Anduin but struggled. He mumbled something in possibly Thalassian, then more Gutterspeak until his head dropped again. “Not so little now…” His voice was so dry, it was a wonder he could speak at all. Anduin tried to reward him all the same, pulled out a cube from his pocket with a trembling hand, stepped just close enough he could hold it with the tips of his fingers. Nathanos took it without looking at it, choked it down with a racking cough.

“ Good. That’s good. Do you know who you are?”

“… thanos…”

“ That’s right, that’s good.” He carefully pushed another treat into his mouth. Nathanos took it automatically, still looking dazed.

“ One more question. Where’s Sylvanas Windrunner, Nathanos?” He kept his voice low, soft almost. His heart was in his throat.

“ I don’t…” Nathanos’ face grimaced in pain again, he squeezed his eyes shut, jerked in his chains. “Don’t know… Come back… Come back for me… Wait…” He sounded so broken.

“ Where is she Nathanos?” Please.

“ Wait for her…” Hazy red eyes blinked, cleared a little. A frown of confusion. “Lion?” He devolved into a mess of Gutterspeak.

Anduin didn’t know what to do. He acted without thinking. Thought of the only thing that had helped this entire time, and without even realising tried to sink into Nathanos’ mind.

The reaction was instant. He barely felt himself try and  _ push _ before Nathanos made an awful, bone-chilling noise and jerked away hard enough for the edge of the collar to slice into his neck. Mentally he was thrown back, blocked and shoved with a wall of hate and anger stronger than he thought it possible to even feel.

“ Get out! Stop! I-” Nathanos wailed brokenly, forcing the words out of his ruined throat.

Valeera pulled Anduin back before he could really realise what was happening. This time Shaw pushed in front of him, blades out and ready. He caught a glimpse of Valeera’s too, but couldn’t stop watching as Nathanos thrashed and shouted in anger, his words a frantic rasp of Gutterspeak and common.

“ Where am I?!” Anduin had pushed too quickly. But maybe this was still salvageable.

“ Nathanos Blightcaller, you are held captive in the Stormwind Stockades as a war criminal and murder-” He raised his voice and had to step to the side to see around Shaw. Valeera kept her hand on him, keeping him back.

“ Stormwind? Lordaeron is… No, Lordaeron is… gone, where…” He coughed out more words to himself, mumbled and frantic until he erupted again, a madness in his eyes. “You! You think you can- she’s gone! Where is she!?”

“ You were the last to see her Nathanos. Where did you last see her?”

Nathanos stared, and Anduin could hear the noise in his throat but he didn’t speak another word. Eventually, he flinched in on himself and tried to curl up again, and grunted when he found he couldn’t. Defeated, he just closed his eyes and hunched as much as he could.

In the end, they waited and tried for the better part of an hour, but Nathanos didn’t say anything or look at them again, no matter how Anduin coaxed or asked. He didn’t move closer, though he almost ached to do  _ something, _ and when they eventually left him in silence, he felt restless with it.

Shaw informed the guard, who suddenly looked far more alert and dangerous then they had earlier. Gone were the chatty, relaxed group of colleagues and instead cold-eyed professionals took their place. Anduin was impressed as much as he was disturbed by the shift.

“ Sire, it’s late. Please sleep tonight.” Shaw levelled him a look that suggested he wouldn’t gain access to Nathanos’ cell tonight if he tried, not that Anduin much felt like it. Free of the cell he was suddenly both restless and tired and wanted nothing more than to take his night potions and sleep through it.

“ Sleep well Anduin, tomorrow will be… intense. Shaw, will you let Greymane know?” Valeera asked, and Anduin had never felt more relief than when Shaw nodded, taking the responsibility from him.

The cell behind them was silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm running out of buffer while I write some October kink stuff, but I'll do my best to like, keep the updates semi on the reg y'know
> 
> As usual, thanks to Jel for sitting in discord while I just complain about fic and editing and tense changes and 'can't believe I wrote 15k words and they haven't even legit spoken with each other yet wtf'
> 
> ANYWAY we're finally getting somewhere! dw Nath won't be miserable for like, ever? just gotta suffer a little to make the good stuff taste better >:3c


	5. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short, mostly bc October fic fills are kicking my ass haha
> 
> TW: Force feeding, emotional manipulation and I guess mind games? sorta?

“I think we can safely say the tamed creature we had on our hands is gone. Blightcaller has returned to his senses, which is the best news we could have hoped for but now… it presents new challenges.” Shaw stood behind his desk, stacked high with paperwork and books and maps and three empty coffee mugs. Anduin hadn’t spent much time in S:i7 headquarters, but it was a maze to get to Shaw’s office and he would have been lost without Valeera guiding him.

The office wasn’t small, but it was so crammed with bookshelves and files that — especially with the three of them forced in there— it still felt cramped. Valeera looked at ease regardless. Anduin simply tried not to touch anything.

“Anduin.” Shaw caught his eye, made sure he was listening properly. “It will be tricky, but you need to balance being kind with unyielding. He cannot have his own way, at any point, not unless we give it to him. He’s smart, he’ll try to worm his way in and undermine you and your authority if you show any loss of control of the situation. To that end, myself and Valeera will act as guards, with little to no input. It has to be clear you’re running this show Anduin.”

“I understand Shaw.”

“Keep touching him, keep him guessing and on edge. You alone hold the key to his freedom, whatever form that may be, and if he wants it he’ll have to work for it. You’re good at being kind, even to your enemy, I want you to use that as a weapon.”

“Manipulate him.” It left a sour taste in Anduin’s mouth even as the thought thrilled something in him.

“Yes. I imagine he’s used to it or will expect it, but even if he can see what’s happening he doesn’t have to be _immune_ to it. Typically the rewards for good behaviour are a larger cell, warmer bedding, a wash basin and the like; I’m not certain what comforts an undead will need, but it’s worth a try.”

“More flies with honey and all that.” Valeera added.

“Mm.” Shaw agreed. “Oh, in addition Anduin; I’ve delayed King Greymane arriving until after we’ve questioned Blightcaller at least once. I want to firmly secure you as the ‘good option’ before we introduce him to the bad one, though play it up. Let Blightcaller imagine what might happen to him out of your safe hands.”

Anduin wasn’t sure how safe his hands were, but he agreed nonetheless.

* * *

Valeera pushed a sweet bun into his hands on the way to the Stockades. Anduin had been asleep, napping after their early morning meeting after a bought of tiredness hit him. He’d awoken to find her in his rooms, dressed for battle and pushing lunch on him as soon as he could stagger from his bed. Apparently he hadn’t eaten enough though, and he dutifully shoved the bun into his mouth.

“This will be gruelling. It’s off script and Blightcaller still isn’t himself yet; there’s no telling how he’ll react to anything. Please, be on your guard.” She asked. He already was, with his leather gloves replaced with mail, and light armour hidden under his normal heavy coat. He was sweating already, but knew the chill of the dungeons would set in soon enough.

“Don’t worry Valeera, I’ll take care. Anything else?” He hoped he hadn’t missed much while he napped.

“Hm, no reply from Tyrande or the Ebon Blade. Baine asks after your health… Some _nobles_ are pissed you’re not around but that’s not really news.” Valeera paused as someone passed, waited until they were far enough down the hall to continue. “Greymane replied near enough instantly by the way; he’ll be here tomorrow. The messenger managed to talk him out of arriving today, thank the gods.”

Anduin silently agreed, but just took another bite of his bun and walked faster, following Valeera into one of the hidden tunnels. There was no time for a stroll along the canals today.

* * *

Shaw was talking quietly with some of his agents as Anduin and Valeera approached, and judging by the tense way they all held themselves, it wasn’t good news. As they grew closer, the guards nodded, stepped back with visible relief and Shaw filled him in.

“He’s been muttering to himself all night apparently, though mostly in Gutterspeak.” He spoke in barely a whisper. Shaw let Anduin and Valeera glimpse at a tiny sheet of paper, with words scrawled in a cipher Anduin didn’t understand, before he pocketed it. “My agents tell me it was mostly gibberish, what they could understand anyway, and if it wasn’t that, it was shouting. He…”

Shaw glanced at the guards towards the end of the corridor, and Anduin realised the usual paladin or priest who was on duty with them was absent. He felt a curl of dread.

“He must have guessed we had someone on duty here. He antagonised them, spoke of those he’d killed in the Plaguelands. The paladin was dismissed, but we’re wary in case it’s a plot of sorts.”

“Maybe he’s just a bastard.” Valeera’s tone was light, but she looked serious.

“Either way, I’ll be more careful about who guards him Sire.”

“Of course, at least nothing terrible happened.” There wasn’t much else he could say. Shaw was clearly upset with either himself or the guard, but Anduin didn’t think it was his fault. He’d ask Valeera later to check in on him. For now, they had more pressing concerns.

Anduin braced himself, unbolted the door, and stepped inside.

“Ah _little_ lion. I must say, the hospitality has all but vanished since I was last here.” Blightcaller drawled, voice scratchy and dry. He watched them enter, eyes narrowed and sharp. He gave them each a once over, his single-minded focus on Anduin gone, but when he caught sight of the bag in Anduin’s hand he visibly flinched.

His sneer would have been more effective if he didn’t glance away. Embarrassment then? For all appearances he’d spent the night regaining his memories, and if he could remember those he killed in the Plaguelands…

Okay, this was good. He could work with this.

“Good morning Nathanos. I’m sure you’re used to this by now? We ask you questions, and good behaviour gets a treat.”

“I’m not a fucking _dog_!” He choked out and his voice cracked with it. Anduin didn’t let the shock show on his face— he hadn’t expected him to rise to the bait immediately. It must be more of a sore spot than he’d realised, but that was good for them, an easy opening.

He ignored Nathanos a moment, asked the guard through the door for some water. Kept ignoring the glare he could all but feel on his back, until the guard passed a jug and cup through the feeding hatch near the floor. It gave him a moment to think of something to say. Something that would hurt. He wished the words didn’t come so easily to him.

“We found you, as wild and desperate as a feral hound.” He poured a cup, pretended not to notice Nathanos try and flinch back as he moved into his space. “Wounded and out of your mind, waiting to be put down. Or was that part of Sylvanas’ grand plan? To leave her champion feral and mindless, picking off stragglers in an all but abandoned corner of Azeroth?”

He didn’t let Nathanos answer. He tried to look disinterested and cold as he forced the cup to Nathanos’ lips, while light gathered warmly in his other hand. Water spilt down Nathanos’ chin and chest, until he gave in and stopped clenching his teeth, as if it would stop Anduin. As if _he_ could stop Anduin from forcing him to take it, from forcing his head back until it was hard to swallow anyway. He drank in hard, uncomfortable gulps, until the cup was empty. His breathing was hard, audible. Anduin waited a moment, watched, until Nathanos finally looked away to the side, and glared at the wall instead of him.

He put the cup and jug on the table next to Valeera, who took the chance to nod at him. A hint of a grin flashing before she was back to all business.

“We found,” he continued with a soft voice, “a stray dog, abandoned and aggressive. Now we have to decide if it’s worth our time to tame it, or if we should just put it down.” Gods but it was so easy to slip into that place just beyond the light, where cruel words came easy. Where the way Nathanos’ wince and angry glare felt _good_. Where he enjoyed the way Nathanos’ bound hands struggled behind him.

Nathanos was quiet. Even if he didn’t know him very well, Anduin knew that it was uncharacteristic. Good. It gave Anduin more time to think, to pick up the bag of ‘treats’ and enjoy the way Nathanos shifted uncomfortably on his knees.

“Let’s start easy. What’s your name?”

“I- are you certain you’re not suffering from brainrot? What sort of—”

Anduin cut him off with a flash of light; nothing powerful or even harmful, a beginners trick really, but enough for Nathanos to flinch and squint his eyes at the brightness in his hand.

“Your name?”

“…Nathanos Blightcaller. Formally _Marris_ , as you’ve been so keen to remind me.” It was the obvious answer, but it was also the first real confirmation they had that their questions sunk in despite his mental state.

“Good, that’s good Nathanos.” He stepped back into Nathanos’ space, not enough to touch, but enough that Nathanos couldn’t see around him. Shaw and Valeera were probably the two most threatening people to have just out of sight, and he’d use it if he had to.

He held a piece of meat in his hand, just out of reach. Chain mail, delicate yet strong, protected his fingers, but he knew he was quick enough with the light if it came to it.

Nathanos was livid. He could feel it in the way he tensed, how he wanted to fight or run. Anduin just looked at him, dragged it out. It was interesting to watch the play of emotions across his face, the unease he couldn’t stop from showing in the lines of his eyes and the tightness of his lips. Most telling were his eyes; the yellow irises dilated so much the red was just an outer ring, and the glow from it cast his cheeks in an ugly, sallow pallor.

“The next treat won’t be so easy to earn, but that was good.” Before Nathanos could even try to say anything, Anduin pressed the meat against his bared teeth, pushed until he was forced to open his mouth and take it.

Nathanos bit. Anduin knew it was coming. The gloves stopped it of course, and he only felt a dull pressure when Nathanos tried to bite through his finger. He should’ve used the light, warned him off. Instead he pressed in with his body, weight behind him as he forced two more fingers into his mouth and dug his thumb under his chin. Like that, it was easy to force his head back, back until the collar opened the scabs on Nathanos’ neck and jaw, until he was choking on the treat stuck in the back of his throat, shifting around on his knees and trying futilely to escape.

“None of that.” Anduin grabbed Nathanos’ throat with his other hand, dug the thumb against his Adam’s apple, acutely aware that his hand and glove were still warm from the dismissed light. He waited until Nathanos stopped struggling, until he forced himself to go lax in Anduin’s grip. “Please, remember that I can burn you from the inside out.”

He relaxed his grip, pulled his fingers free and let Nathanos’ head drop just enough that he could cough and wheeze. He didn’t let go of his neck until he felt him chew and swallow the treat, though it took Nathanos a moment to force it down. Nathanos tried so hard to glare at him, to give him one of those hateful looks, but his eyes kept shifting away, until he simply glared at one of the buttons on Anduin’s coat. Once Nathanos’ breathing returned to its ‘normal’ slow, steady pace, Anduin stepped back, dragging his hand away at the last moment.

“N-not so little any more I see.” Nathanos’ voice was hoarse again, and it went straight to Anduin’s cock. He’d never been more thankful of his coat.

Anduin took a moment to collect himself, willed himself to calm; there was no time for this now. He could pray and be ashamed later, but right now… He took a drink of his own from the jug, used a different cup of course, and sipped the water thoughtfully. He turned his attention from Nathanos to silently check in with his two guards.

Shaw seemed as relaxed as always, tired but alert as he leaned against the wall. He watched Nathanos while Anduin pretended to ignore him, always on guard. Always seeing what Anduin didn’t or couldn’t. Valeera simply faked boredom, played up her youth as she sat on the table, swinging her legs. She slipped Anduin a scrap of paper as he drank— a list of questions jotted down in shorthand, a guideline that Anduin was thankful for. It was easy to memorise, but he tucked it underneath the jug in case he needed it later.

“Do you need more water?” he turned and watched Nathanos over the rim of his cup.

“…No.” Nathanos didn’t look at him, just tried to stare a hole through the wall in front of him.

“If you need more at any point, please just ask.” Anduin knew he wouldn’t, that he’d have to wait until Nathanos’ throat was so dry he could barely talk before he forced him to drink again. “So, we can start off big or small? Let’s try big, and see if we can get this over with quickly. Nathanos, where is Sylvanas Windrunner?”

He didn’t expect anything except venomous back chat, but he definitely didn’t expect Nathanos to suddenly look so… lost. Shocked perhaps, or confused.

“Like I’d tell _you_ , boy.” He eventually choked out, the venom lost in a cough.

“You must know where you last saw her, if not where she is right now? Did she not tell you, her _champion_ , her plans?” It was so easy to twist the knife and Nathanos reacted so well to it. He was silent, dropped his gaze to the floor, and Anduin passed the time walking around the room, checking the anchor points of the chains. He spent a little too long behind Nathanos, who started to try and twist his head around to look. Eventually, Nathanos coughed, and tried, unsuccessfully, to speak. After a moment, he cleared his throat and tried again; “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know where you last saw her? It doesn’t have to be recent, just.. Where do you last recall seeing her?”

“The last I remember was watching her kill that old fool of an orc before we… before…” he trailed off, frowned and screwed his eyes closed. He was silent.

“Do you know why you were left to wander the Plaguelands?” Nathanos’ breathing grew even slower, heavier. “Perhaps it was intentional. Perhaps she left you wherever it was you stopped being useful. Discarded. But you had enough mind left to crawl back to your old home and wait for her like a loyal dog, hoping for forgiveness.” The words just fell from his lips like acid, bitter on his tongue but he couldn’t stop them. Any hope of his cock calming disappeared when Nathanos made a wounded noise in the back of his throat. “For the sake of argument, let’s say she came back, and found you gnawing on the bones of old travellers and new recruits. What would she says when she saw this… _thing_ you’ve become? I think she’d put you down herself.”

It was finally enough for a reaction.

“ _You know nothing_!” He lurched in his bonds, the chains pulled tight as he struggled to get free. The heavy collar on his neck cut into him and Anduin watched calmly as fresh ichor ran down to join the rest of the stains. He could feel Shaw and Valeera behind him, ready to launch at their captive, but in the end it was fine. They watched him struggle and shout, until he tired and ended up slumped again, panting and growling in his throat. “You don’t... Know anything…” He coughed up something black and sticky, more mess to mat in his beard. It was disgusting and pathetic. Anduin’s gut clenched regardless.

“I know enough. About you, and Sylvanas at least. It’s not hard to piece things together, with or without your input. I think we’re done for the day; I have work to get on with, and you have some thinking to do. I’d like you to try and remember, but also to think on Sylvanas, both as she used to be and how she is now. How she treats the, hm ‘arrows in her quiver’ I think was a phase I heard. Think on it, and tomorrow we can talk about your options going forward.

“I want to work with you Nathanos, but there’s too many stakes involved and there’s only so much time and energy I can put into taming a stray. Rest for now and— oh! Wait, I forgot to mention,” and he really had forgotten, too caught up in Nathanos and his reactions. “Genn will be here tomorrow. Please behave while he visits, I don’t want him to think you’re too much for me to handle. Truly, it’s lucky you came back to yourself when you did, he was about ready to take over.”

“…can’t control you other _dog_?” Nathanos croaked out.

Anduin shrugged, ignored the insult. “I don’t control what happens in Gilneas, so please. Behave. Rest well Nathanos.”

Nathanos was silent as they filed out. Anduin told the guard to leave the jug of water in there, and they left her to lock and ward the door.

“Well, for being untrained in interrogation that certainly was...”

“Ruthless.” Valeera finished Shaw’s sentence. Neither sounded unhappy. Shaw looked… just tired if Anduin were honest. Valeera smirked as she gave Anduin a once over and shoved him in the arm. “Who knew you had it in you! I’m so proud!”

“It’s unconventional, but it seems to work. He’s quick tempered, and has so many sore spots it’s a wonder anyone’s been able to deal with him.” Shaw mused.

“I should keep going like this? Just, insults and humiliation?” Anduin asked. It shouldn’t sound so enticing to him. Gods but he needed to pray, to steady his mind and willpower. At least he’d softened slightly under his coat, thank the light for small mercies.

“He’s receptive to it, so yes. It keeps him destabilised; I don’t want him feeling comfortable enough to start scheming. If you can keep up the nice and cruel— rewards when he’s good, insults to keep him cowed— it works.”

“It feels like abuse.”

“I can’t think of anyone who would complain.” Shaw shrugged.

“If you like,” Valeera spoke up, pulled another bun from a pouch somewhere and pushed it into Anduin’s hands. He hadn’t realised he was shaking. “Think of it this way. A bit of humiliation, or… Greymane. You haven’t hurt him yet, not really Anduin. This is so _gentle_ …” She looked distant a moment. Shaw stayed quiet. “Anduin, you at your worst would be sweeter than Greymane at his best. If he won’t answer you, he can go off to Gilneas. Or, he can have you, and your mean words and sweet rewards if he complies. You weren’t wrong, treat him like a dog and he’ll choose his master.”

“He seems the sort to bite the hand that feeds it.” And quite literally, Anduin thought, flexing the fingers Nathanos had clamped onto.

Valeera pet his arm in a sort of mock sympathy.

“And that’s why it’s you, who can oh, ‘burn him from the inside out’ was it? And not us poor little rogues doing it.” Valeera teased.

She laughed as he tried to cover his blush with his coat collar.


	6. An Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long lol, kinktober kicked my ass and I didn't even finish it
> 
> I swear to god I will get this asshole out of this cell as soon as I posisbly can, god this dragged on longer than I thought it would lol
> 
> Content warning: just a whole lot of manipulation, but what's new ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The training sword was heavy in his hands, familiar and comfortable enough to use, but not quite the same as wielding _Shalamayne_ , and Anduin always felt off-balance using it. It was a good replica—it even split, if he needed to practice dual-wielding or a more complicated form—but there wasn’t enough gold in Stormwind to truly replicate the legendary weapon, and Anduin’s back and shoulders would pay for it later, as they always did.

He could feel the sand of the training ring sticking to the sweat on his brow, kicked up by constant, heavy attacks and blows. It felt good to fight, to stop thinking about politics and war for a moment, and lose himself in the physical ache that cleared his mind so differently to prayer. His opponent, Katherine, was good, a trainer Anduin liked to spar with, someone who wouldn’t hold back, and who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage if Anduin flinched or stepped wrong, whether it was because of a mistake or just his body failing for a moment.

“Again.” Katherine didn’t hesitate, and Anduin met her blow with a parry, twisted and struck. He could feel the Light inside him warming, threatening to boil over, but this was sword practice only, and he desperately needed to learn how to fight without relying on it, no matter what Jaina might tell him.

_‘Use your magic more liberally, you certainly have enough of it.’_ She’d advised once, before sending him a battlemage to train with. ‘ _Shalamayne is a conduit, not just a blade, and your enemies should be dead before they even reach you.’_ Anduin had to admit her advice held merit, and even Genn had had to concede that Anduin’s fighting was far more effective these days, and that Anduin’s body was punished far, far less for it. 

Jaina had _opinions_ on his plate armour as well, but he’d politely ignore that for now.

They were halfway through another bout, when Anduin caught sight of a black coat and white hair from the corner of his eye, which he resolutely ignored until the round was over. Anduin was panting, sticky with sweat as he nodded his thanks to his partner.

“It’s never a problem your majesty.” She bowed, only slightly out of breath in a way Anduin envied. Her composure held when she looked over Anduin’s shoulder, and bowed again. “King Greymane.”

Anduin turned to find Genn behind him, expression warm and polite as he greeted Katherine. “I see Anduin is doing well in his lessons, you have my thanks, for your dedication.”

“King Anduin is a fine student,” Katherine offered politely, and Anduin knew he would blush, were his face not already red with exertion. “Between us, we’ll get you caught up. Azeroth will learn that priests aren’t quite as soft as they used to be.”

Anduin held his tongue, nodded politely and dismissed her to walk back to the keep with Genn. It wasn’t her fault the words stung something deep inside, nor was it the fault of any of the countless others who’d mentioned it to him in passing, or asked how he felt, or questioned it. A priest in plate _was_ unusual, and even Anduin had to admit it made it harder sometimes, to channel or connect with the Light. Genn had been right though, all those months before; if Anduin was to lead from the front lines, it couldn’t be in cloth, not when their enemy could shoot an arrow through his eye from over a hundred paces.

“We should spar later, if you’re up to it,” Genn offered. “You’ve progressed well, truly, and I’d like to see it for myself.” A warm hand clasped his shoulder, and Anduin looked up to find Genn smiling down at him, genuine and proud, and Anduin couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Of course, I’ve been meaning to show you how far I’ve come since last time.”

“You’re blooming, Anduin. I only wish your father were here to watch you, he’d be so proud.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed then fell. “I know I’m early, I’ll wait in your reception room while you freshen up. Do you need help with your armour?”

“Please.” It wasn’t as complex as his real battle armour, but it was always a struggle to reach the straps at the back, and Anduin was thankful for the help.

* * *

There were more council and meeting rooms in the Keep than Anduin had ever found use for, and he was fairly certain most were nothing more than convenient places for nobles and guards alike to gossip or meet illicitly amongst themselves. The one they were in now was one of the larger ones, albeit with only a single window, so they could forgo having more guards than necessary for privacy.

Large as it was, it wasn’t big enough to contain the brewing moods amongst Anduin’s closest advisers.

“I admit my disappointment then, that he’s yours to deal with and not mine. Unless you’ve changed your mind?” It was clear Genn had calmed down enough to think rationally, but Anduin could still see the hunger for blood in his eyes, the tension and feigned nonchalance alike. He bit his tongue rather than risk inflaming him, but Valeera held no such tact.

“I feel your methods might be a last resort.” She offered with a dismissive wave of her hand, but the quirk of her lips was sharp and daring. Anduin felt his jaw tense when Genn’s eyes narrowed to meet her challenge.

“What are you implying, blood elf?” 

“I should think it obvious?”

“Please. Both of you.” Anduin’s patience could only take so much. “Genn, we’ve brought him back to his senses, though he still claims he can’t remember where Sylvanas was last seen.”

“An obvious lie.”

“Perhaps, but it might take a few more days for his mind to finish healing itself. In the meantime, we’re working to gain his…” He waved his hand, lost for the right word.

“’Trust’ may be pushing it,” Shaw offered, “but I believe he will be compliant and obedient, given the right incentives.”

Genn scoffed. “Incentives, Shaw? He’s a prisoner, not one of those half-witted ‘adventurers’ you need to pay for their time. He’s lucky to be ‘alive’, that should be incentive enough.”

“And it may well be. In my assessment,” Shaw tapped a stack of papers in front of him, “from reports and now seeing him in person, Blightcaller values little else above his own and Windrunner’s survival. That said, I’ve reached out to the leaders of the Horde for their opinions—”

“How can you trust what they say?” Genn sounded reasonable, but Anduin wished he’d stop interrupting. The grace and manners he showed to the nobility of Stormwind and beyond was lacking when he was amongst his friends and equals.

“They want to capture him and Windrunner just as much as us, if not more; their betrayal cuts many members of the Horde deeply. I reasoned it to them, as trying to pin down his character and temperament, that we might better have a hope of understanding him or where he might hide.”

“A coward. There’s little else to it.” Said Genn.

Shaw shrugged, and flicked through his papers until he found the one he needed. “Perhaps. Lor’themar Theron knew him in life and death, and described him as ‘a braggart and a bully’, amongst other things. Baine found him intolerable, cruel and ruthless. Lillian Voss refused to comment. The newer members of their council suggested that amongst those who don’t know him well, even they found him incredibly unlikeable. Despite him leading their assaults in Zandalar, most tried to have as little to do with him as possible, with the exception of their… ‘Speaker’—a temporary ambassador I believe—amongst some other champions who had to deal with him regularly.”

“And their opinion?”

“The Speaker had nothing nice to say, though goes on to list keywords; vain, conceited, cruel. One champion writes ‘inordinately punchable.’ Another; ‘high strung and bad tempered’; ‘Scared of birds, question mark’; ‘A willing pawn.’

Anduin watched Genn’s composure fray by the word, until he was glaring at the sheet in Shaw’s hand like it was Nathanos himself. Valeera looked like the only one enjoying herself, but who could say how much of that was real, and how much of it was to push Genn’s buttons.

“This is _ridiculous_ ; we can’t even contact Lady Tyrande, but apparently the Horde are keen to gossip the second we call for talks?” Genn snapped.

“Nothing unites a workforce, or army I guess, like a terrible boss.” Valeera had her chin in her hand, but her grin was wicked and only grew when Genn turned his scowl towards her. “People love to gossip. It makes my job _so_ much easier.”

Anduin watched Genn glare for a long moment, before closing his eyes as he collected himself. When he opened them again, he was the picture of calm, and reason, and the diplomat Anduin wished he could be.

“How is this useful Shaw?” Genn asked calmly.

“It paints a picture, and I’ve known people like this before; no matter his skills, he’s made himself isolated, and a target.” Shaw tapped the stack of papers again, as though it held every answer to this entire mess. It probably did. “Without Sylvanas’ protection, he must know he’s vulnerable and if he’s not used to this it will keep him on edge, looking for something to protect himself with. As we’ve framed it for him, the only one he can look to is Anduin.”

“His enemy?”

“His only hope. The only one who will treat him fairly. You’ve already played a part in this as a threat, Greymane, and later I hope to push it; with you in there as an antagoniser, and Valeera and myself as obvious neutral parties, the only hope Nathanos has will be Anduin’s grace. Anduin already has a reputation as forgiving and, I’m sorry to say, naive.” Shaw didn’t look apologetic at all, and Anduin couldn’t blame him. “This will work to our advantage; Anduin will offer something in exchange for his life. Nathanos will think Anduin is easy to manipulate, but also have no choice anyway. He’ll likely feign compliance, until he has a chance to strike at Anduin, but we’ll be ready.”

“You cannot use the king as bait!” Genn’s careful composure was already slipping.

Anduin thought it best to intervene, lest his silence meant they continued to talk like he wasn’t there. “No, Genn. It makes sense. With the Light I’m at a distinct advantage over all of you. If I can get him to trust me enough, or to at least… Underestimate me, then he’s likely to slip, one way or another.” He met Genn’s gaze, refusing to back down. “If the deal we make centres on him helping us find Sylvanas, even if I can’t force him to lead us directly to her, it’s a start.”

“And what would you offer him?”

“I’m not certain yet. Shaw?”

“His life.” Shaw took a breath, and steadied himself. Anduin braced too, even though he knew what was coming, even though Shaw had already told him the plan in a private meeting. “I think the best option, is to grant him political imm—”

“ _What_?!” Genn was on his feet in an instant, and Anduin had no choice but to follow, to put himself on equal footing.

“Genn!”

“You would lose Tyrande entirely, the night elves would abandon the Alliance…” His voice was so cold, Anduin felt it in his chest. “Anduin, I hate to do this but you would lose Gilneas.”

“Genn, please. Shaw?” He hoped the panic didn’t show in his voice, that Genn wouldn’t… No. He could save this. Nathanos was his prisoner, his problem to deal with and he wouldn’t take Genn’s empty —and Gods he hoped they were empty—threats. 

“It’s simple.” Shaw explained, “he leads us to Sylvanas. He’s under no pressure to help us capture or kill her, if he likes he can think of it as taking his enemy straight to her. Regardless, we will be ready for her.

“In exchange, he cannot be executed for his crimes during the Fourth War.” Anduin added.

_“He_ shot the first arrow! _He_ is directly responsible for the death of thousands!” Genn was close to a shift, Anduin could see it in his eyes, in the way he started to clench his fists to hide his growing claws. He was ready to end it, call for a break, but Valeera finally spoke up, a bored voice of reason.

“Well, _I_ for one am certain that once he is free of any contract, _someone_ will take it upon themselves to take revenge for his wrongs.” Her voice was light, a contrast to how sharp her eyes were as she stared Genn down. “Or we orchestrate it so the Horde can take him. _Or_ a stray arrow pierces his eye. _Or_ hell, maybe Sylvanas will kill him herself and save me a job!”

Shaw nodded along with Valeera, but didn’t speak until Genn huffed and sat down. Anduin slumped heavily into his own seat.

“He won’t face a formal trial. It doesn’t mean he survives. We take what we need from him, and then my preference is to tie up loose ends, and ensure he isn’t a problem in the future.” Shaw explained.

“This feels dishonourable, but when has that _filth_ ever deserved honour. But what of Anduin, how will we ensure Blightcaller doesn’t hurt him during this farce?” Genn asked.

“There are spells. Dark ones,” Valeera offered with a shrug. “I can investigate, ask around. A mage might know of something, but it’s probably more up the alley of some warlock or another.”

They fell into silence as the mood calmed and they each thought it over. Anduin thought it sounded solid, and trusted Shaw’s opinion. They’d need to bring it up with the other Alliance faction leaders, although…

“With regards to Tyrande. At this point, perhaps forgiveness is better sought than permission.” Anduin wasn’t above going behind her back, not when he trusted she’d be pleased enough with the final outcome anyway. 

“What forgiveness?” Genn scoffed, “Even Thrall and Baine had no luck with her. She won’t be happy until she has Sylvanas’ head in her hands, and she’s not the only one.”

“We give her Sylvanas’ head, and perhaps if Nathanos lives, we give him to the Horde, to strengthen the truce.” Anduin considered the options, but was certain it would work out. It had to. “A show of goodwill, or trust. Whatever it takes, to end this constant conflict for good.”

* * *

The tunnels of the Stockades weren’t designed for so many to walk down at once, and they ended up breaking into pairs, with Anduin and Genn leading the way. He could hear Shaw and Valeera making small talk behind him, and the heavy step of both his and Genn’s guards behind them further still. He forced himself not to apologise every time a stockade guard had to press back into the wall to let them through comfortably.

“Once we’re done here, with Blightcaller and this mess, you should visit Gilneas. Our rebuilding is near complete, and with Undercity fallen, we should have no opposition to pushing out and reclaiming Silverpine and Tirisfal.”

“You think the Forsaken Council will agree? Tirisfal in particular was always under Lordaeron’s control.” Anduin replied, keeping his face carefully blank. It wasn’t the first time Genn’s words left a heavy knot in Anduin’s chest and it was hard to sound calm; Genn spoke so casually of invading, Anduin feared their peace wouldn’t last the year.

“The Windrunner witch gave it up when she blighted it _and_ her people with it. It should be cleansed and put to the control of the Alliance.” There was a hardness to Genn’s voice, but Anduin couldn’t tell if it were because of thoughts of the blight, or simply his hatred of Sylvanas.

Dark thoughts edged at Anduin against his will; _you didn’t want it when they needed you. You gave up Silverpine to protect the city. What right have you to ask for it now?_ Years of practice helped him stop the creeping thoughts from crossing his face, and he squashed them down, back to the depths where they belonged.

“We’ll talk about it properly later, but my instinct is to focus on Gilneas, and to rebuild its harbours and navy. You are, after all, significantly closer to Boralus than Stormwind, and it would be a boon to trade. I know Jaina speaks of opening up routes and trade again, and the newly rebuilt Stromgarde would benefit as well.” He could picture the lay of the land easily, like he were flying over it; a childhood spent pouring over maps and books cementing them in his mind, though admittedly he was meant to be paying more attention to the Noble houses and their lands, than imagining flying around the mountains and sleuthing through enemy lands.

He’d had a taste of adventure in Pandaria. It would have to be enough.

Blessedly they reached the lower levels, and Nathanos’ cell, before an argument could start; before Genn could truly fight his case, Shaw finally spoke up.

“King Greymane, I would ask that you let King Anduin do most of the speaking; his authority over this is of utmost importance to having Blightcaller fixate on him as his only ‘ally’.” Shaw reiterated the tactic they’d already discussed, and Anduin was just thankful Shaw took the brunt of Genn’s disgruntlement over being reminded.

“But be sure to push his buttons, just a little, so he gets to see what’s on offer with you.” Valeera shot a quick wink to Anduin that he hoped Genn didn’t see.

“It shouldn’t be hard. Gods but I can smell him from here… Spray him down, if just for your own sake.” Genn stepped back to let him in, even as his nose wrinkled with distaste. “Well then, after you King Wrynn.” Their guards lined the hall, and it still felt odd with such a large audience.

“Good afternoon Nathanos.” Anduin greeted, and immediately Genn scoffed behind him.

Nathanos, for his part, did a very good job of looking angry, and Anduin supposed he was, but he saw the way he tensed and tried to rise on his knees, how his eyes widened before they narrowed sharply at Genn. How he tried and failed to toss the stringy mess of hair out of his face, and just had to settle for sneering as they entered.

Anduin watched his throat work around words he decided not to speak in the end, and didn’t look as Shaw handed him the customary bag. He ignored the way Genn sniffed the air and scowled at it.

“You’re feeding it? A waste of food.”

“How I treat my prisoners is my own business Genn. Nathanos, would you like a drink?” He filled a cup up with the half empty jug left from yesterday, regardless of Nathanos’ silence.

This time he didn’t crowd quite so close, but Anduin had to snap his fingers in Nathanos’ face to force him to tear his glare away from Genn. It did the trick at least, and Nathanos looked almost contrite as he glared at the floor and then the cup as Anduin pushed it against his lips. Anduin didn’t have to tip Nathanos’ head far today, didn’t need the possessive hand on his throat. Genn watching seemed to cow him enough that he likely wanted to avoid any unnecessary humiliation. Good. Perhaps it would be easier.

“King Greymane is here because we made a deal with him, you might remember? If we got you talking before the week was up, he’d leave you to us. If not, you were to go to him for questioning, however he saw fit.”

He tipped the cup a little higher. A bead of water trickled down the side of Nathanos’ mouth.

“Fortunate for you I think, that you came back to us when you did. Genn is here to see proof, that you’re cognisant and talking and capable of answering our questions. So, let’s start with something easy. Who are you?”

He pulled the cup away, but stayed close, a barrier between him and Genn, but not enough that Nathanos couldn’t see the worgen looming behind him.

Nathanos stayed silent. Genn had no patience for it.

“Perhaps I was misinformed, Anduin. I’ll make the arrangements for its transfer.”

“Let him finish his drink first, Genn.” Nathanos eyed him warily, seemed to consider his options, and then scoffed through his nose.

“Nathanos Blightcaller, at your _service_.” His voice was a dry drawl, contemptuous and loathful.

“So it does speak. Fine. But it waits to be seen if it’s useful.”

“I’m not a _thing_ , unlike a certain creature I could name.” Nathanos bristled.

“Neither alive nor dead, I’d say that makes you little more than an object,” Genn towered over Anduin’s shoulder, but he didn’t look back, just watched Nathanos struggle to keep his eyes on him. It seemed some of the conditioning had stuck at least. “We distinguish animals because they can at least breed, be eaten or are useful for something. You’re less than an insect, a tick that we’re unfortunate enough to have to deal with. Give us the answers we need so we can put you out of your misery.”

“Then ask me a damned question, you witless mongrel!” Nathanos hissed. The building growl in his throat stopped when Anduin put a hand to his jaw, and pulled his head to refocus him away from Genn. It was a sharp thrill when Nathanos let him.

“You only answer to me, for now.” He could feel Genn’s disgusted look when Anduin rubbed a thumb through the mess of Nathanos’ beard. “Unless you’d prefer to be held in Gilneas?”

Nathanos swallowed, his eyes flickered to behind Anduin but a sharp press of his thumb was more than enough to bring his stare back to him. Anduin could feel him say something, a rumble in his throat, but it was too quiet.

“Louder please.”

Nathanos opened his mouth but nothing came out. He swallowed, and tried again. “…No. I would… ‘prefer’ Stormwind and your… tch, _tender mercies_.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. Does that sound agreeable King Greymane.”

“No, but I’ll accept it as per our agreement.”

“Good enough. Well, back to the usual then.” He stepped away with a soft pat to Nathanos’ cheek, if only to stretch his legs more than anything before they seized. Training always left him stiff and uncomfortable.

Genn’s nose wrinkled again when Anduin dropped the empty cup to the table, and took up the bag of meat instead. He ignored Genn’s reaction to read the slip of paper Valeera had pushed underneath. 

“Nathanos,” He turned to watch how Nathanos acted without Anduin’s body as a shield. “Has your memory recovered much since yesterday? Or perhaps Genn has some questions he’d like answered?”

“I only care to know where that witch fled.” Genn had taken to pacing. He managed five steps before he had to turn around.

“Nathanos? Answer him please.”

“…I told you I don’t remember.” Nathanos answered, and he tried so hard not to let his gaze wander from Anduin, it made Anduin’s breath catch in his throat. It was a heady feeling, to watch someone struggle to obey, but try anyway.

It was clear though, that they were at somewhat of an impasse. Anduin stopped himself from biting his own thumb as he thought about how to either pull the information from him, or delve in to find it himself. Between the meat and Nathanos’ grime, he was running out of gloves quicker than they could be cleaned.

Anduin couldn’t risk Genn finding out how closely he brushed the void, which meant it was time to get… Experimental.

“I want to try something. Nathanos, close your eyes please.”

“Not likely to happen.” Nathanos tried to drawl, but a cough ruined the effect.

“Humour me. You’re safe enough with me here. Or should I blindfold you?” Nathanos’ eyes narrowed, but he didn’t close them. Not until Anduin was in his space again, nearly touching him. “Good. How about… Think of Sylvanas. How did you feel last you saw her?”

“This is ridiculous.” Genn spat from behind him.

“I’m _loathe_ to agree with him but—” Anduin shut Nathanos up with a careful hand on his jaw. He took a moment to savour it, to savour how Nathanos’ eyelids fluttered and he almost leaned into it despite his tension. When he calmed, Anduin lazily tipped his head back and Nathanos went willingly, and didn’t complain when Anduin used his other hand to cover his eyes.

Nathanos’ throat bobbed as he swallowed, and Anduin thought he definitely shouldn’t enjoy watching it so much. He fiercely stamped _that_ thought down—by the Light he didn’t need to be hard in his trousers when Genn could probably smell it on him.

“Don’t think too hard about it. Just let your mind drift. How did you feel, last you were with Sylvanas?” Anduin asked gently.

“I don’t recall.” His voice was small.

“Happy? Sad?” Nathanos scoffed, but stayed still. “Accomplished? Or disappointed? Rejected?” He felt it when Nathanos tensed under him, and saw him swallow again. He waited a second. “Did you fail her?”

Nathanos was silent, tense in his hands. Anduin pressed closer, until his long coat was dirtied brushing against Nathanos’ chest. He was in the dangerous zone where Nathanos could lash out and bite if he so chose. He didn’t.

“Nathanos, did you fail Sylvanas?”

“…Yes.” It was barely audible.

“And what of your other senses? When she told you you failed her. What noises were there? Smells? What does failure taste like?”

He lets Nathanos think, take his time. This sort of thing took Anduin long enough when meditating; it couldn’t be any easier on your knees surrounded by enemies. Eventually, Nathanos rasped out a cough.

“…Ash. Rot. Bitter and cold…” He managed to croak it out, like the words surprised even him. 

“That’s good.” He could feel Nathanos relax in his hands, slump a little in the chains. It was a nice moment, until Genn cleared his throat, and Anduin felt the shift immediately. He pulled away just before Nathanos realised what he’d done, what he’d said, and started thrashing and trying to bite him. Anduin threw his arm back to stop Genn advancing, and waited patiently until Nathanos exhausted himself.

“Y-you—”

“That was good, Nathanos.”

Anduin ignored Genn’s shout when he stepped forward again, crowded Nathanos and grabbed his neck, pushing a treat to his lips. Nathanos was angry, it was obvious, and he refused to take it, even tried not to look at him, but the only other option was looking at Genn so he just screwed his eyes closed. Anduin had to smear his lips with it, push a thumb into the hinge of his jaw, but eventually he took it. Choked it down while Anduin hummed meaningless noises at him like he was trying to calm a scared animal. This time he stayed close, kept his hands on their captive. He half-blocked the view of Genn as he idly rubbed Nathanos’ throat.

“That was a hard question, so let’s try something easier now.” He pretended to think on it, and didn't take his hands from their captive. Ignored Genn’s pacing. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“What?” Nathanos asked at the same time as Genn spluttered something that might be similar.

Anduin repeated himself. “Are you uncomfortable? If you work with us, we’ll grant you privileges, I told you this. I can’t unchain you yet, but perhaps a chair? A cushion?” It was hard, but at the same time so easy _—too easy—_ to keep Nathanos off-balance. It felt like he might topple himself. He pulled back, and let his fingers drag as he walked around Nathanos, inspecting the damage he already knew was there. “If you agree to help us find Sylvanas, we could see about healing some of these wounds.”

“I’d sooner _die_ than help.” Nathanos spat.

“Hmm, you’ll help, one way or another. How about an agreement? Like Greymane and I had?” Anduin stood behind his captive, one hand on the back of Nathanos’ neck. In front of them Shaw leaned, Valeera sat in her usual spot and swung her legs. Genn looked like he was ready to maul them both. Anduin dipped his thumb under the collar to stroke Nathanos’ neck, ignoring the tension. Pretended to ignore the way Nathanos’ breath hitched and quickened. “You help us find Sylvanas, lead us to her, and in return, we won’t execute you.”

“You can’t— you don’t have that power.”

“I am the High King, I have whatever power I please.” Anduin splayed his hand when Genn stepped closer, pulled Nathanos back into him. He felt the growl build in Nathanos’ throat and took pity before it became audible, slipping around until he was blocking the room again. “I’ll be clear. The Alliance will not try you for crimes committed during the Fourth War. I will personally do my best to keep you safe and alive until we find Sylvanas. Once we find her, our contract ends, whether you help us capture her or not.”

“And then I’m quickly picked off by a Horde archer who just happens to be nearby?” Nathanos sneered, and Anduin felt almost… proud, that he was still so sharp, despite the circumstances. He saved the thought for later.

“It would be a mercy compared to what myself or Lady Tyrande want for you.” Genn answered.

“If you break the contract, I will hand you to Gilneas and King Greymane. They might better know how to get the answers we need from you.” Anduin added.

Nathanos’ throat was so dry, he struggled to spit the words out. “And how, exactly, will you guarantee I won’t just kill you the second I get the chance?”

The smile Anduin gave him was cruel, learned from Valeera and Prestor and every noble who’d crossed his path; only made sharper by letting his own dark thoughts flash for but a moment across his face. With his hands cupped around Nathanos’ head, his captive couldn’t look away.

“Because I’ll destroy you before you get the chance.” He brushed the hair from Nathanos’ face, thumbed the marks that were still healing from the Light. “But, to satisfy my friends and council, we’ll fashion something to bind you. Magical of course. We’re still looking into it, though if you have any ideas let us know.”

“A geas?” Nathanos’ brows furrowed, and he looked… For the first time, he looked not angry or on edge, just… contemplative. It was nice. And Anduin quickly cut that thought off before it could take root. “That’s dark magic, Little Lion.” Nathanos said, “darker than the Alliance would allow for I should think.”

Anduin hummed. “Like I said, if you have any ideas let me know. For now though, do we have an agreement?” Everyone was silent behind him, even Genn. He had Nathanos’ full attention and kept it, kept his hands on his face and neck, watched him as he swallowed and stared back at Anduin. Judged him, he’d guess. Or at least judged his sincerity, or naivety.

And then, just as smoothly as the calm had come, it shattered and Nathanos flinched back, or tried to, and struggled as it pulled the collar tight.

“I… I can’t lead you to her. I can’t.”

“Then he’s mine.” Genn was quick to try and swoop in, like he’d been waiting for an opportunity to bat Anduin away from their captive, but Anduin stood strong, shot him a glare cold enough the other King stopped and bristled.

“I can’t…”

“What can you offer me then? What will you give me, to ensure your survival?”

Nathanos didn’t look up. “…I don’t know where Sylvanas is but—the others, Sira and the Dark Rangers, I… I could take you to them.” He sounded broken.

“And what would they know that you don’t?”

He was silent.

“Nathanos? What would Sira know, over you, her chosen champion?” It was a twist of a knife he’d already buried up to the hilt. It shouldn’t feel so good.

“Sira is loyal. Devoted. She hasn’t… failed her yet. She’ll be Sylvanas’ right hand. For now.”

“Your information will be out of date.”

“No, it won’t. I know where they are, the safehouses and secret places. I trained them. I know how to track them.”

Nathanos thankfully had his eyes tight shut, like he was in pain, and missed Anduin casting a glance back to Shaw. A nod. They could work with this.

“Then, in exchange for clemency, for protection until the contract ends, you will lead us to, and help to capture, Sira Moonwarden and Sylvanas’ Windrunner’s dark rangers. This does not grant you immunity; only for Sylvanas will I ensure you aren’t executed by the Alliance for your crimes. But, I will keep you alive and in fair health, until the conditions are met.” He struggled not to rush the words, to mimic the racing of his heart. He kept his hands gentle, like Nathanos’ agreement was simply expected and not earth-shattering. “We will draw up a formal contract tonight. Until we can source a binding geas or item, you will remain down here under guard. Once we can be certain you won’t be able to hurt anyone, I’ll see about improving your living quarters. Do you agree?”

He could feel the slight nod of Nathanos’ head, but it was the croaked ‘yes’ he needed. It wasn’t binding, but he had witnesses and it was something to work from. He trusted Nathanos about as far as he could throw him, but for now he seemed cowed enough, and it wasn’t like Genn was a stranger to Stormwind; if Nathanos ever needed a reminder as to his place, he was certain Genn would be more than willing to show him.

* * *

_‘Well it’s… Unorthodox, but effective. Anduin, I thought you weaker than your father, but clearly you have your own type of ruthlessness. I’m pleased to see it.’_

Genn’s words rattled around his head as he lay in bed and tried to sleep.

_Ruthless_.

He didn’t think that was it, not really. He’d spent his entire life working for patience and compassion, praying for peace. Perhaps Genn had meant _unyielding_ , he’d heard that one a few times. _Strong-willed_ had been a favourite of his nicer tutors, while the less nice ones tended towards _foolhardy_.

Prestor had seemed to have a new word every time she’d seen him. Too many to recall, until they came up or he overheard them and found his heart racing oddly until he could find a quiet place to calm himself.

Still, ruthless seemed to be something everyone but he himself valued, and Anduin wasn’t sure if he should be happy about finally ‘earning’ it. Not for just manipulating a prisoner, no matter how awful they were. Not the way he enjoyed it.

Deviant, would be more apt. Abusive. Perverted.

He thought about Nathanos, docile with his hands on his throat. The way he struggled to swallow with the collar and Anduin’s thumb pressing in. He felt the warmth in his gut, felt his cock take an interest in his thoughts.

Depraved.

He liked it when Nathanos struggled not to bite his fingers when he pushed food past his lips. Liked it so much _more_ when Nathanos had tried to refuse him yesterday, after agreeing to their contract. He’d tried to jerk and pull away, simply because Genn was there and visibly disgusted by it all. Every ‘treat’ had been a fight to force him to eat, until he finally gave in and took them without looking at him or Genn, and in the end Anduin had fed him the whole bag, thrilled by the fight and submission.

Maybe ruthless was right.

He was hard, his nightgown twisted up around his hips from his tossing and turning, and it was so easy to just slip a hand under his heavy blankets and stroke himself. He pushed his face into his pillows, a habit he couldn’t shake, as he thought about— as he tried _not_ to think about Nathanos, and pushing his fingers into that dangerous mouth.

It was pointless. He told himself not to think about it, and it was all he could imagine. Nathanos on his knees, glaring at him and reluctantly taking what he deigned to give. The image shifted in his mind; Nathanos in his bedroom, his washroom, kneeling before his throne. Pushed against the white walls of the keep in some secret hallway. Anduin slipped the fingers of his free hand into his mouth, bit them and imagined Nathanos nipping them as he explored his mouth.

The hand around his cock was frantic, harder than he usually liked, as he pretended it was Nathanos slipping his large hand between his legs. Anduin hadn’t touched him without his gloves, not yet, and wondered how cool his skin was, how it would feel in his hands, against his body. Was he cold inside too?

He came unexpectedly, hard and shuddering at the thought of holding Nathanos down while he sunk into him, of tugging on his hair, pulling his head back and forcing him to bare his throat.

The guilt hit almost immediately, and with a curse, Anduin wiped himself with his nightgown before he wriggled and pulled it off and tossed it next to the bed. As fantasies went, fucking Nathanos wasn’t… Well, at least it wasn’t his teenage fixation on Shaw. Or Thassarian. Or any of his sparring trainers. Or that _thing_ he liked about orcs and tauren, that not even Garrosh was able to, well, crush out of him.

Even under his hands, Nathanos remained almost… Untouchable, Unreal. It was hard to process exactly, but Anduin would never think about doing such things with anyone else, but Nathanos… Brought something dark out in him, and he wasn’t sure he hated it as much as he should.

It was times like this he wished he had someone else to talk to who wasn’t at least twenty years his senior. Valeera perhaps, but for all her loyalty and their friendship, she still felt unapproachable about… this.

It was enough to make him miss Wrathion, but thinking about that would only lead to heartbreak, and he was in a lighter mood despite the roiling in his guts. Instead he rolled to his back, and tried to think about a different set of red eyes. It didn’t help him to sleep.


	7. The Binding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled for so long with this, but that Nathanos cutscene gave me enough life to finish it, I shit you not I have never felt more pinpoint focus than after watching my absolute fave character get [redacted] hah what a sad life for me
> 
> Special thanks to everyone who checked this over for me!! <3

Anduin could tell when Jaina was visiting before she was even announced, or he could at least tell when she was in a foul mood. The chill in the air could be felt from the upper levels of the keep, and a messenger simply confirmed her unannounced visit. He was glad of the thickness of his formal clothes; the layers and decoration that were usually too heavy and stifling, were a much needed warmth when he entered the throne room, to the eye of the storm. 

Jaina stood calmly before the throne, with everyone but the royal guard dismissed. Doubtless they’d have complained, but at least Anduin hadn’t been there to suffer it, even if it would likely be brought up in that week’s audience with the House.

He didn’t have to fake the welcoming smile when he greeted her. “Jaina, I’m truly glad to see you.”

“Anduin,” she smiled at least, and it was good to see the soft crinkle around her eyes, and feel the relaxed way she drew him into a tight hug. She was angry, though perhaps not with him, and he was heartened to see that it didn’t seem to consume her as much as it used to. “Your hair’s grown. Aiming to rival your father’s mane? Well, at least you brush yours.” She twirled a lock of Anduin’s fringe around her finger, and tugged it when he tried to shoo her off.

“I’m just trying it, for now. I can always cut it off if it doesn’t suit me.” He lied. Anduin was shorter than most men he knew, and with his youthful face, wearing his hair long was the simplest way to make himself feel older than he often felt. It was different in other regions, he knew, but the Stormwind fashion still tended towards only children and labourers wearing their hair short.

“You’re a handsome man, Anduin, with the best of your father and mother in you, I’m sure you’ll suit whatever you like.” Her eyes glinted, and Anduin braced himself. “But perhaps... don’t dye it black again.”

“Please,  _ please _ can we forget that?”

“Absolutely not, it will be a great story for me to tell your children.” She tugged his fringe again, before making her way to one of the padded benches that lined the walls. She patted the seat next to her as she sat, and Anduin let himself get comfortable, knowing what was coming. “You must know why I’m here?”

The chill of the room crept into Anduin’s skin. He nodded; he’d sent the letter after all.

Jaina took a deep breath, and tried not to blow it out in a cold cloud of fog. “You know I trust you, and your judgement, that gut instinct of yours is… worryingly  _ right  _ sometimes. But this… Anduin… I need you to explain.”

He told her everything, save the more personal details. How they found Nathanos, how they dragged him back to that cell, and were working to tame him like some sort of beast. How, against all odds, it was working.

“I offered him clemency, in exchange for helping us hunt down Sylvanas.”

The temperature dropped.

“Anduin! That’s not your call—”

“Yes, it is.” He grabbed for Jaina’s hand, held onto it like he had when he was a child, and begged her to understand. “Genn has agreed. The terms are simple, and I’ll need your help, but he’s agreed to a geas, a contract. He won’t lead us to Sylvanas, and I’m not surprised, but he’s agreed to give us the dark rangers instead.”

“A trick, surely?”

“Maybe, but I think it’s a lead worth chasing. Even if we don’t find Sylvanas, she’ll be weakened without her primary guard, and will struggle to enact her will through them. It’ll draw her out, I’m sure of it.”

“And in return, Nathanos gets what, Anduin?” Jaina’s grip tightened around his, and Anduin was glad for his gloves.

“His life, at least until the contract is fulfilled. Shaw wants to, well,  _ you know _ . But I think there’s merit in giving him to the Horde, as a peace offering.”

“But what of your allies, Anduin? You risk losing Tyrande, one of our oldest allegiances, over what? Sylvanas’ dog? I think I have to agree with Master Shaw on this one.”

“If it means peace… Jaina,  _ any _ cost is worth it.” Anduin knew her pain, and her loss in any faith that there could be peace, but surely she’d understand. She had Derek now, and had worked alongside Saurfang and Baine, and even Voss; she had to know there was a way to make it work.

Jaina searched his face for what felt like an age, until eventually, she just sighed. She cupped his jaw gently, like she had when he was a child, when he’d needed comfort and family. When he could escape the mess of his life for a while, hiding in her arms.

“You’re a beacon of hope, Anduin. Your mother would be so proud.” Her smile was faint. “Your father too, even if he sought peace with a sword. I’m learning…” She closed her eyes, and sighed again. “There’s a balance, between naivety and hope, and between strength and just… hate. Don’t repeat my mistakes, Anduin. Not the ones of my youth, and not the ones born from hate and anger.”

“Aunt Jaina…”

“I trust you in this, whatever you decide. I know Tyrande won’t; if you’re young in our eyes, in hers you’re little more than a child. I’ll help you where I can, for peace, and for justice.” She straightened, and the room warmed with her obvious shift in mood, as she shook off the melancholy moment. “Tell me of this ‘geas’, and how will you ensure he won’t hurt you? Magical contracts are limiting, much too prone to loopholes and misunderstanding if you don’t know what you’re doing…” He could see the look in her eye, the one that meant she was  _ interested.  _ It was a common, if fearsome look he’d seen in many mages in his life.

“Well, that’s where I’d like your advice…”

* * *

The necklace was an intricately braided chain, that Valeera had found in the Wrynn family vault; probably some gift or another from years ago, with a blank pendant intended to be inscribed with whatever the wearer needed. Anduin knew little about jewelry, and less still about ore, but the jewel-crafter—a draenei with so many chains and jewels draped on her horns and tail, she tinkled whenever she moved—had been pleased enough with it when they’d asked her opinion. Apparently eternium (or was it elementium?) was rare, and Anduin had looked sheepish when he’d told her it had been wasting away in a safe.  _ ‘Strong, light and with fantastical magical potential! A rare find indeed— this would have bought a house in Draenor when I was a child, and you were letting it gather dust amongst the rest of your baubles! I’ll never understand it… _ ’

He’d left her with a promise to wear more of his family jewelry— ‘ _ these things are made to be displayed! _ ’— and hoped it would satisfy her if he simply wore a brooch or ring.

Regardless, perhaps it was more apt to call it a choker. Collar sprung to mind, but Anduin fiercely pushed that thought away. It felt heavy in his pocket, newly inscribed with the arcane runes and circles Jaina had worked tirelessly to draw out for him. Together, with Anduin’s input and that of an altogether too-willing warlock, the final design was a potent mixture of three branches of magic that should do the job. A fel-style contract to bind, arcane to bolster and Anduin’s Light to control it and the wearer. It was a careful balance, and Anduin still wore the bags under his eyes from working on it.

_ ‘This is bad, so bad. I love it. Please,  _ please _ tell me who this is for, I promise I won’t gossip! _ ’ Anduin hadn’t met the gnome himself, because heavens knew no one outside his closest circle could know the King was involved, but Anduin had listened through the door as Jaina impatiently put up with the warlock, and had been glad to not be in the same room. 

All that was left was the geas. A ‘geas’ was used as a broad term these days, but at its most primitive, most potent, it was raw, old magic. Anduin had spent hours researching it, both alone and with Jaina to work out how to tie it to his own magical core, and after some sleepless night, he’d finally found what he needed. He’d thought he’d have to slip into the shadow, somewhere dark, where he’d had practice controlling others before but, against all odds, it was the Light that would channel it best.

So much of magic was about willpower and intent after all, and his will to save would always be stronger than his will to control.

* * *

The door to Nathanos’ cell hadn’t looked so daunting since the first time he’d stood there. That was weeks ago, surely? It was so easy to lose track of time without the looming threat of war, or N’Zoth, hanging over his head.

He played with the choker, hidden in his coat pocket, feeling the engraving through his thin gloves. Usually, it was best to wrap up warm when working with Jaina, but he needed as close a connection to his magic as possible, and heavy layers would block it. Shaw apparently knew the risks too, and Anduin had been mildly shocked to see him in a long coat of his own, distinctly Kul Tiran in style, though Anduin had held his tongue about it.

They went through the usual spiel; Anduin was in charge, don’t undermine him in front of Nathanos, and the rest of it. Anduin quietly thought to himself that if you had to go through such lengths to make someone  _ look _ like they had authority, they probably didn’t have it in the first place. 

Nathanos regarded Anduin with a sneer when they walked in, and only looked more pissed off when Jaina followed behind him.

“Good morning, Nathanos.”

“Is it? I admit, time slips away from me here. You could at least provide a clock, so I might have something to watch while I rot back to death.” He watched warily while Anduin poured a cup of water, and his scowl only deepened when Anduin pulled the chair from the table to place in front of him. Jaina pulled his attention though, dropping her heavy bag on the rotten table, and nearly knocking the water jug off.  _ “Proudmoore _ .” His tone was polite enough, but his sneer was all teeth.

“Blightcaller.” Jaina’s voice was as hard as her stare, but she set to work quickly, setting out crystals and herbs and a bag of reagents Anduin had never had use for in his studies as a Priest, but were evidently crucial to the arcane magics.

Anduin set the cup to Nathanos’ lips, but didn’t force him to drink more than a few sips, while Shaw found his usual space on the wall. The temperature was dropping, but Jaina managed to control it, and it didn’t quite reach the point where Anduin’s breath fogged in front of him.

“Nathanos, we have an agreement, yes?” Anduin asked once Nathanos had finished the cup. 

“Don’t  _ remind _ me.” He drawled, attention mostly on Anduin, though he watched Jaina out of the corner of his eye.

Anduin ignored his snark. “If we’re in agreement, then I’d like to move on with the geas. You’ve languished in here for long enough I think.” He moved behind him, and was pleased when Nathanos didn’t even flinch when he settled a hand on his shoulder. “I need to unfasten one of your hands, so you can sign the contract. If you attack me—”

“Yes, yes I’m aware, you’ve told me  _ so _ many times now, how could I forget. Get  _ on with it _ .” Nathanos spat.

“Blightcaller, how  _ dare _ —” The temperature dropped enough for Anduin to shiver as Jaina rounded on them both, the hint of magic in her eyes was sharp. Deadly.

“It’s fine Jaina. Please.” Anduin’s hands gripped tight in the rags of Nathanos’ coat. He could feel the sudden tension in him, but Nathanos blessedly just harrumphed and kept his mouth shut.

Jaina regarded the captive with a sneer of her own. “You are lucky, Blightcaller, that Anduin holds your chains.” She said, tutting as she moved back to her papers. “Most would have cut out your tongue by now for such talk.”

“Well I’ll count my blessings then.” Nathanos mockingly clicked his tongue, and Anduin squeezed his shoulder before he could think to go further. He got a tut of his own in response, though Nathanos was quick to settle, and leaned forward as Anduin bent to examine the chains around his wrists.

The cuffs had left bruising and cuts where Nathanos had struggled, and Anduin ached to heal them, but held back. He knew from Archbishop Faol how much it would hurt, and wouldn’t subject him to the burning pain unless he asked. Perhaps he could find a way to heal him with the shadow later, but for now…

One of Nathanos’ hands was still mostly gloved, and hopefully intact, the other however, was a mess; the skin was worn down to the bone at the fingertips, covered in dried blood and the orange dirt of the Plaguelands. Anduin could see the tendons twitching, the flesh flayed open but unbleeding, and he could taste the bile in his throat at the sight of it. 

Anduin had no idea if he could heal it, or if there was some sort of Forsaken technique to use, but until then he’d need to keep it wrapped. He’d seen Forsaken move and wield weapons with significantly less flesh or fingers than this, but with the rest of Nathanos so whole, it was gorey and, frankly, jarring to look at.

“I’m going to free this hand, okay?” He touched the gloved hand gently, then supported it as he pulled out the intricate key, which matched the padlock holding the chain to the cuff. He kept Nathanos’ wrist and hand held up as the lock opened with a  _ click _ and fell away, and helped ease it around to his front, supporting it while he helped Nathanos work his shoulder a few rotations. If he were alive, he’d have been in so much pain from the prolonged bonds it would have been a cruel torture, but Nathanos barely made a noise, just winced when he tried to clench his fist.

“Give it a moment, and let me know when you can hold a quill.” Anduin settled the limp hand on Nathanos’ lap. He collected the fully outlined contract from Jaina and her pile at the table, before sitting himself on the uncomfortable chair in front of Nathanos. It would take a while, and drain him enough that it wasn’t worth the risk of keeling over. Jaina seemed happy to lean against the desk, and Anduin thought she was probably used to standing for hours at sea, performing rituals and fighting… she was strong, a battlemage through and through.

Anduin would likely never be able to stand for long periods himself, and was still trying to make peace with it.

“I have the contract here, it covers what we agreed the other day, though in more detail. Can you read Common? Or shall I read it out to you?”

The look Nathanos gave him could only be described as withering, and Anduin found he had to stifle a tiny smirk. When had Nathanos’ outright disdain turned into something predictable? When had Anduin found it fun to start teasing him? 

“A stupid question? Do you want to read it or should I?” He asked instead.

“Just give it here!” Nathanos reached for it impatiently, though his arm shook when he held it up, and Anduin made sure he had a firm grip before he let go of the sheet. Nathanos’ took his time, and Anduin was happy to pass it by watching how the yellow irises of Nathanos’ eyes moved over the page. His frown grew deeper in places, and his lip curled in others and Anduin wondered what parts incited which responses.

It was a simple contract, with little room for loopholes. The warlock was an expert at them apparently, and had bound more powerful demons than Anduin cared to think about, with words alone, though Jaina had emphasised that it wasn’t the words that mattered, it was Anduin’s willpower. Anduin had his own thoughts on the use of fel and demons, and none of them were good, though he admitted it was useful to him now. Maybe that was how the corruption started… A little bit at a time… The ends justifying the means…

He shook the thoughts off, and watched Nathanos read the contract over again. He might not be able to be open with them about everything, but he trusted his friends and allies to keep him anchored. To keep him from straying too far, and he hoped they’d notice if he suddenly… He refused to think about Arthas, about Sylvanas and so many others. Tonight, he would meditate and pray, but for now… He breathed deeply, taking in the growing scent of burning herbs and crushed reagents that were beginning to fill the room. Jaina was busy working behind him.

The paper contract was really only a formality, it was the necklace that Anduin fiddled with in his pocket that held the real magic holding the whole mess together, and the geas would ensure he survived it. Jaina understood better how to meld the magical energies, how the fel and arcane bolstered the Light he used as the main power, and Anduin trusted her implicitly.

It was set to simply cause discomfort if Nathanos intentionally disobeyed a direct order, and would increase the longer he took to obey. The punishment was a perversion of Anduin’s Light, the same intent that brought peace and clarity, twisted to cause discomfort and pain. It wasn’t unlike the shadows he toyed with, but far easier for him to control, both the intent behind his orders and the pain he’d punish with.

It felt wrong that the Light could be used in such a way, but Anduin had seen the Scarlet Crusade, seen what faith alone was capable of. The Light didn’t judge, just rewarded devotion, and it was up to them to guide each other.

Nathanos read it over twice, and then a third time, before he finally looked up.

“This seems… Basic.”

“What part?”

“All of it! There’s no—” He choked on a cough, his throat still so dry despite the cup of water. Anduin gave him time to collect himself, to take a moment to inhale and fill his dead lungs, work some sort of moisture into his mouth and throat. “Far be it for me to complain about a lax leash but, despite evidence, you’re no fool. This ‘contract’ leaves too much room for freedom, and _ I’m _ not fool enough to imagine it bodes well for me.”

“The geas will prevent you from killing me. The contract will ensure you obey my orders. I don’t think I have to write down the name of every civilian I don’t want you to hurt.” Anduin leaned forward on the chair, elbows on his knees. Nathanos’ grip on the contract tightened but he was silent. “I don’t want a mindless puppet, Nathanos. You’re so much more useful to me if I don’t have to order you to walk, and sit and behave. But I will, if I have to.” He let the darkness creep into his voice, pushed his intent, until Nathanos lowered his eyes.

He continued, “You know the safety of my people comes first, and I’ll order you not to harm anyone intentionally, but I need you to know that if you go into this looking for a loophole, then you’d better make it count. The first sign of trouble, and I’ll have you so wrapped up in commands, you won’t be able to blink unless I let you. Do you understand?”

“I… Yes.” Nathanos was cowed, for now. Anduin doubted it would last ten minutes, but as long as he obeyed, Anduin found he rather liked the occasional rebelliousness.

“You agree then?” Anduin passed Nathanos the quill after he took his time to nod, and even as Nathanos signed it in janky, shaking hand writing, Anduin could feel the magic begin to stir inside. “Good. Now then…” He pulled the necklace from his pocket, and Nathanos regarded it with open disdain.

“Didn’t feel like another dog collar, then?” Nathanos sounded weary, eyes on the choker as Anduin held it up to show him.

“You’ve been humiliated enough, and I want a partnership, not a trophy.” Anduin tried not to let the blush show. He  _ had _ thought about a collar, with a little tag marking Nathanos as  _ his _ . It was inappropriate, especially with how much he’d thought about it in bed the last few days, and he got to his feet to try and hide the blush he couldn’t control at the thought.

Nathanos closed his eyes when Anduin reached for his neck, but kept his head up obediently. It didn’t help the storm of feelings inside Anduin’s gut. 

Nathanos’ neck was as bruised as his wrists, with shallow cuts where the hard edge of the restraint collar had rubbed raw, and Anduin couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to drag his thumb along one of them, ignoring the way he flinched at his light touch. He itched to heal them, but there was more crucial work to be done, than fixing wounds which probably didn’t even affect an undead that much.

He slipped the necklace around Nathanos’ neck with little ceremony, and with a twist of the clasp, he could feel the rippling magic start to latch and grow. The pendant fit neatly between his collarbones, a dull glimmer against the rags of his coat, and the pallor of his skin.

“Are you comfortable? I need to read the contract aloud to help bind the magics. Jaina?” He eased himself back into the chair, and tugged it forward enough that he could reach out and coax Nathanos’ free hand up and into his lap. It was cool in his, chilled by Jaina’s cold aura and Anduin rubbed it in his own, like his body heat might help despite his thin gloves.

“Of course, Anduin.” The growing scent tingled the back of Anduin’s throat, and only more so when Jaina pressed close, the sweet scent sticking to her hands and sleeves as she brought him a length of cloth to drape over his shoulders and lap, and wrap loosely around their hands. Just by touching it, Anduin could feel the spellwork woven into the threads and embroidery, and how it helped the connection between his and Nathanos’ energies.

Jaina stood behind him, hands on both of his shoulders, and he could feel her energy begin to spread through him, bolstering him and reaching through to his core. With the contract tucked away on his lap, and Nathanos’ hand in his, he began to speak the words he’d memorised so well:

“I, Anduin Llane Wrynn, hereafter known as the master, bind Nathanos ‘Blightcaller’ Marris, hereafter known as the vassal, into contractual subservience. In exchange for his life, and protection to the best of the master’s abilities, the vassal will serve and obey, until such a time the master considers the contract fulfilled.

“The vassal will obey any and all orders given by the master, or face punishment as explained below.

“The vassal will…” Anduin tuned his own words out, and focused on the magic building in his chest. As long as his intentions were clear in his mind and soul, the words on the paper were superfluous, a formality and guide to follow. This magic went deeper than pieces of paper, it had to or else it would be foolhardy to attempt to write a rule for every conceivable scenario life might throw at a person.

_ Obey me. Obey my will, and intent, and suffer if you deliberately disobey. _

He felt the magic ebb through him, a warmth in his core that spread to every finger and toe, until he was on the cusp of burning. He didn’t let it consume him, channelled it to the place in his chest it burned brightest, and released it through his hands, into Nathanos and his own magical core, and the necklace that would keep it all together. 

Anduin poured his intentions into it, and laid out as many layers of specifics as he dared; _ don’t hurt him if he makes an honest mistake, don’t hurt him if it’s in self defence, don’t hurt him if he tries… to deny my advances. _ He hated that he had to include it, hated it more than he couldn’t know if he could trust himself. 

He felt more than knew how to attune the punishment to his own powers, how to bind Nathanos with the Light and the tiniest hint of shadow, and the core of his soul that was him, Anduin, in its purest form. He kept his eyes forward, focused on Nathanos, on every one of his reactions, on the way his face twitched and the way he gasped when the magic flowed and sought him. When it connected, Anduin could feel it, feel the loop almost close, the connection almost strong enough but… not yet.

He leaned forward, kept Nathanos’ hand gripped tightly in one hand, and pushed against the pendant with his other, pushed his magic and will and energy into it, until the connection flared to a full bloom of magic.

It was draining, the energy had built up within him and as it flowed into the pendant—into Nathanos— it left Anduin feeling drained and cold, yet so, so hot at the same time. It felt nauseating, the mix of fel and arcane; even with his Light controlling it, it was a rolling mixture of clashing power that he kept tight within him, forced to his own will. It wove through him, and he could taste it in the back of his throat, smell it over Jaina’s burning herbs, a bitterness like he’d eaten raw blindweed. It grew as the spell took root, as the power became so overwhelming he nearly slid off the chair, and was only held up by Jaina’s strong hands on his shoulders.

Slumped as he was, Anduin was almost eye to eye with Nathanos. They were both panting heavy and uneven breaths, and close enough for Anduin to taste the rotten air from Nathanos’ mouth, feel the cold bursts of it against his face. The connection was a thin wire in his chest, something he thought he could follow if he concentrated, much like the threads that lay within Nathanos’ mind.

Nathanos looked so scared, so distant and broken, and Anduin wondered if it was the connection, or because it was him. Wondered how to ease the fear from his face, even as he felt his own boil inside him.

He squashed it down. Now wasn’t the time for remorse, or guilt, this was for the good of the Alliance, for Azeroth.

Still, he couldn’t help but reach out, to cup Nathanos’ cheek in his hand, and try to soothe the fear away. Nathanos leaned into it, just barely, and his hand gripped Anduin’s like he’d take it away, but his face was tight, eyes dancing over Anduin’s face like he was searching for something. The connection felt so much stronger when they touched, it was an effort to pull away.

A cup of water materialised in front of Anduin’s face, and he took it with thanks, without looking away from Nathanos for a second. It was icy cold, a balm to the fire that still burnt through his veins, even just holding it.

Nathanos eyed it, and opened his mouth, likely without even realising it, and Anduin reacted without thinking and held the cup to his chapped lips. He tipped it gently, so Nathanos could sip easily, and just stared at him in a foggy headed daze. He’d been so focused on the magic it had dulled his other senses, and coming back to his body was… unsettling.

When Nathanos had finished, and seemed to be having his own dazed moment, another cup appeared, and Jaina was kind enough to take the empty one from him while he shakily raised the new cup to his own mouth. The water was cold and soothing to his throat, and he hadn’t even realised it was dry.

He couldn't stop staring at Nathanos, even when a manabun found its way to his hand. He broke it in half before he even thought about it, pressed it to Nathanos’ lips, and he took it before either of them remembered his hand was free. He felt the roughness of his unkempt beard through the thin cotton gloves, the ones he only wore to hide the scars. Felt the heat of his breath, and when Nathanos’ tongue slipped out to catch the stray crumbs, it dampened the tips of his fingers and Anduin couldn’t look away.

“Anduin, eat.” Jaina’s voice was calm in his ear, cutting through the fog with the sweet smell of herbs, and he obeyed, despite his eyes still locked on the man before him. The taste exploded in his mouth, a sense coming back in a sudden hit of the crackling sharpness of magic. Jaina’s conjured food always tasted faintly of lemon, and it was a comfort from his childhood that he sorely missed.

He could feel the bond settling, felt the last tumultuous waves simmer until they were cool and calm within his chest, a pool waiting to be drawn from later.

He wanted Nathanos out of those chains, but couldn’t until he’d tested it, and he was still too dizzy to even think properly. The geas too, he remembered, the old magic that might ensure his life.

Though if Nathanos managed to kill him through both the contract and the geas, Anduin thought he might deserve his fate, if just for his negligence.

“Jaina… the geas.” While he could still speak. He sensed her behind him before he felt the hands on his shoulders again, pulling him upright and grounding him, helping him regulate his mana.

She helped him wrap his right hand in a twisting wreath of ivy and thorns, which stabbed deep enough to pull pinpricks of blood to stain his white gloves, to match the bitter berries. In his left, he tightly clasped a large acorn, and could feel the stem of its cap digging into his palm.

If modern magic was all about intent, old magic was all about symbolism. And so much willpower, but Anduin was lucky enough to have that in spades.

“Ready?” He asked Nathanos, who gave a shaky nod. “This shouldn’t hurt, my research suggests—”

“Just! Just get on with it…” Nathanos snapped. Anduin noticed he was listing to the side a little, and knew he had to do this while they were both strong.

“Okay. It’s simple I just need…” He straightened, Jaina’s hands were a cool balm, and he let himself into the calm pools of her mana.

He closed his eyes, and found the well of determination in him that had brought him this far in the first place. He thought of his end goal, of every time he’d pushed and fought to get what he wanted, what he needed. He thought of his broken body, and his resilience in the face of the world, and his stubbornness and all the traits people said were his worst and his best at once.

He bundled them all up, into a hard ball of resolve, and spoke the simple words.

“Nathanos Marris, I place you under this curse, that if you kill me or seek to engineer my death, you will immediately die.” The words were simple, with no room for loopholes or argument, and his death was about the only punishment they could all agree on.

The acorn was warm in his hand, and the pricks of the thorns stabbed deep. The magic seemed to rise through his feet, build so slowly and sluggishly, that it felt like it would drown him in a bubbling flow of thick oil, until it settled in his throat.

Nathanos had stopped breathing, as deathly still as the corpse he once was, save the pained way his face twisted, until all at once the oiliness seemed to slip away, and Anduin was left panting again, dizzy with its sudden absence. It seemed to take all of his energy with it, and even Nathanos seemed to slump, held up only by his chains, while his one free hand twitched in his lap.

It was over so quickly… It felt wrong, that he could so easily control someone with a few words and a handful of  _ weeds _ , but… it had worked. Anduin could feel it in his bones and throat, and he hoped never to have to test it.

He unfurled his hand, and the acorn was a blackened husk in his palm, and a glance showed him the ivy and thorns were much the same, the plump red berries now shrivelled and dry in the space of but a moment. Jaina was kind enough to help him remove them, and he immediately rubbed his face, trying to scrub the tiredness from his eyes.

He wanted nothing more than to beg Jaina for a portal to his room, and collapse into bed, but there was so much work to be done.

Light but they still had to test it... The sooner it was done, the sooner they could unchain him, and the sooner Anduin could sleep. He thought, for a split moment, that he could probably leave the unchaining to Shaw and Jaina, but the thought was gone before it took root. Nathanos was his, to control and protect, and release from his bonds.

“Nathanos…” The magic rippled, sensing his intention to use it. “I need to test it.” 

Nathanos simply closed his eyes, and bowed his head, resigned to his fate, and Anduin’s couldn’t describe the feeling it left him with.

They’d planned this; it would be pointless to order him to do something he didn’t mind, it had to be something he’d fight against and it felt… awful, but they  _ needed _ to check.

“Nathanos,” he hunched in on himself, braced for what was coming. “Tell me a secret.” Anduin pushed the order through, felt the magic respond and ripple out.

Nathanos stayed silent, but Anduin could see his mouth working around silent words. He waited, and wondered what would happen.

After about a minute, he felt the magic shift, the ripple moved to waves and Nathanos’ grimaced

“I…” He choked on his words. Two minutes and the waves pushed and Anduin swore he could feel the way they forced into Nathanos’ mind, ate at him and burned, until Nathanos blurted out, “I— I miss my hounds!” In a rasping breath.

The waves stopped instantly. The pool calmed. Nathanos’ breaths were ragged and irregular.

“Good, that’s… that’s good Nathanos.” Finally. Light at the end of the tunnel, and all Anduin wanted to do was sleep. Instead, he staggered to his feet, swaying a fraction but he got it under control soon enough. He shuffled to hide behind Nathanos before he quietly downed the potion he’d hidden in his pocket earlier, and it wasn’t enough to fully revive him, but it perked his energy enough he thought he might get through the rest of the day, even with the growing headache and bitterness still coating the back of his throat.

He waved Shaw over while Jaina watched, and together they began to remove the chains, one lock at a time. 

Anduin braced himself as he unlocked the first padlock, slipping free one of the chains holding Nathanos held to the floor.  _ Click  _ of a lock, the  _ thunk _ of it falling, and Anduin kept the Light ready and an order on the tip of his tongue as he moved around, Shaw watching them both like a hawk.

_ Click, _ thunk. His upper arms were free. Any damage was hidden by the tatters of his coat.

_ Clink _ , thunk. The chains around his thighs, keeping him pulled down tightly dropped off. Anduin could see where his struggles had torn the fabric of his trousers. His thighs were bruised and bloody where the chains rubbed, the gore gumming into his leg hair and sticking fabric and skin together, though Nathanos barely even hissed, when moving pulled at the skin and wounds.

_ Clink _ , thunk.  _ Clink,  _ thunk. The wrap of chains around his waist were pulled free, and Anduin stifled his reaction at the gaping wound still cut deep into his stomach. It was deep, a killing blow to anyone alive, and oozed black ichor when Nathanos moved. Whatever the state of the rest of him, Anduin would get that fixed first, lest he run the risk of Nathanos spilling his guts in a hallway somewhere.

Light, but the resilience of undead was something else, and Anduin would feel jealous if he wasn’t so appalled that something could exist like this.

He and Shaw unwrapped the chains carefully, letting them pool about the floor, forgotten in favour of making sure Nathanos didn’t keel over without them anchoring him down.

Shaw helped Nathanos kneel up a little so that Anduin could get to the cuffs on his ankles, and Anduin saw the face he pulled at the grime and gore touching his coat, but he didn’t voice it. Nathanos moved willingly, almost limp in their hands and quiet, even if he grimaced with every touch.

His feet were a mess of orange mud, but Anduin could see the cuts and slices on the soles. He was missing a toenail or three, and a chunk out of the right heel, like he’d been bitten by an animal. It was a miserable picture in all.

With Shaw holding him up by the shoulders, Anduin carefully took off the cuff at Nathanos’ other wrist, again supporting it as he drew it around to his chest and lap. He wondered what binding would help him, either to save what they could or possibly even heal it. Anduin knew it was in their best interest to keep him as incapacitated as possible, but it didn’t sit right with him, to not at least ensure some level of comfort while he worked with them.

Finally, he unlocked the four chains of the collar that held him down, and eased open the heavy lock keeping the iron tight around his neck. The whole thing hit the floor with a dull crash, overly loud in the small cell.

Nathanos swayed a little but Shaw caught him before he toppled over, and between them they pulled him up. He couldn’t stand, just sort of crouched as he tried to get his feet under him and held his arms close to his body. Anduin could hear him grumble something in Gutterspeak when he slipped and tried to take a step, and he’d have fallen over if Shaw didn’t have one arm under him, the other hovering near his belt.

With Shaw keeping him upright, Anduin dragged the chair over and put it under him, so he could collapse back into it with a grunt.

His eyes were screwed tightly shut, and he looked to be in some level of pain, but he shooed Anduin away when he hovered too close, and Anduin let him have his space.

“I’ve made arrangements for you to move in to the keep with me.” The silence was heavy, with nothing but Nathanos’ laboured breaths to fill it, and Anduin felt awkward when he couldn't do anything. He blamed it on his fatigue, that he couldn’t control his tongue. “Next to my rooms. It’s the most secure part of the keep, both to invade or escape.”

“You truly know how to pamper your pets.” Nathanos wheezed out. He clutched his injured hand close to his chest, and curled up as best he could on the old chair, and Anduin felt the Light tingle at his fingertips, the prayer on the tip of his tongue.

“I look after what’s mine,” said Anduin. “Now, when you can stand, Jaina will portal us to my quarters, and we can begin to see about fixing you up a little.” He waited until Nathanos sat back, and looked like he was about to ruin himself forcing his way to stand.

Anduin offered his hand. Nathanos simply stared at it, like he didn’t know what it was, but just when Anduin thought to rescind the offer, Nathanos reached up and took it. His grip was firm, but he let himself be pulled up, until he was standing for the first time in weeks, looking down at Anduin even while stooping, like he felt awkward for being taller.

It was fine, Anduin was used to people towering over him after all, friend and foe alike. Nathanos, firmly in the middle of that scale, was no exception.

The shimmering crackle of a portal whirred to life next to them, snapping their attention to a tired-looking Jaina, waiting impatiently. Shaw didn’t look particularly alert himself, but hid it a fraction better.

“Well, come on then.” Anduin turned to stand side by side with Nathanos, with a hand on the small of his back. The grime from Nathanos’ own hand masked the specks of blood staining his once-white glove, and Anduin lamented the loss of another pair. “And I think it’s about time for lunch, don’t you?”

Nathanos simply stared ahead as they stepped through the rippling portal together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's finally. Out. Of that fucking cell!! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ


	8. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This gave me so much trouble you have no idea, but as always thanks to Trollsweat for helping to edit <3
> 
> This chap hit 7k words tho wtf..... ....wtf...... 7k words and actually sweet fuck all happens??? Sorry but just take it I guess...
> 
> This chapter is the last of my 'massive first draft' lot, so I need to start writing it from scratch again and... I'm not prepared :)) Also SL is SO VERY GOOD and raids/m+ open soon so my life is gonna be lost to that, i'll just have to find more time to carve out for writing...
> 
> Warnings: bit of light surgery/sewing up some wounds

The rippling sensation of portal travel always left Anduin feeling faintly nauseous, and only more so when he was low on physical energy and mana-drained to boot. Still, he managed to stay on his feet well enough, which was more than could be said for Nathanos; Anduin felt something in his side pull when he lunged after him, barely catching Nathanos before he collapsed to the floor of the Royal Quarters.

“Hey now—” He managed to twist and use himself as a block, propping Nathanos up as he all but fell out of the portal. Anduin didn’t even think, just acted, and it wasn’t until he was supporting his full weight that he realised how close they were. Touching. His face against Nathanos’ chest. It might have left him with _thoughts_ if he weren’t so tired, and if Nathanos hadn’t smelt like an open grave. He stank, there was no nice way to put it, a mouldering damp smell that hit the back of his throat, tainted with the sharp stench of old blood and rot. He was heavy too, a solid weight hanging from Anduin’s shoulder. Even as he struggled to get to his own feet, and despite how much Anduin had touched him already, the heavy, cold weight against him was unsettling, like he was manhandling a...well, a corpse.

Anduin was quick to step back as soon as Nathanos could stand, and he covered his mouth discretely when he turned, though with his gloves so dirty, there was little point.

At least Nathanos seemed fine once he got his feet under him, still a little hunched, and he could only shuffle along to make space for Shaw and Jaina to portal in behind them, but none the worse for his near fall.

“This is the Royal Quarters,” Anduin said, nodding to the room they stood in, a large greeting chamber, grand for the Keep though not as lavish as elven or even Lordaeron architecture. It was cosy and comfortable, a place for the Wrynn family to relax with themselves or guests, though it was rarely used. Anduin preferred the private antechamber attached to his father’s — _his_ — bedroom for meetings with Genn, and there were more than enough rooms near the throne room for private talks with dignitaries or his Court.

Behind the sitting area and dining table, doors lined the wall, interspersed with heavy tapestries and decorative weaponry; each door was simple, heavy and reinforced, though the mantle above each had distinctly Dwarven stonework and carving— no doubt Brann’s influence when the keep was built. The door to Anduin’s room sat near the corner, no grander than the other five, though the rug in front of it was far more well-worn.

Anduin waved Nathanos to follow him, Shaw and Jaina bringing up the rear.

“That’s my room.” He nodded to his door, and then to another two down. “And Valeera’s. This,” he gestured to the door between the two he had mentioned, perpendicular to his own, “will be yours.” His hand wrapped around the familiar handle, and he opened the heavy lock, trying to ignore the pang of loss as the hinges creaked and the door swung open into his old bedroom. It should _still_ be his.

It was still more or less as he’d left it when he’d moved into his father’s room, though the bars on the windows were new. The bed, which had been large for him as a child, and still wasn’t considered small by any means, took up most of the space, though Anduin had found room for shelves upon shelves of books, and a neat desk against the wall. He’d left most of the books in there —save for a handful of old journals that he’d found when getting it ready for Nathanos— as well as several gifts he’d received over the years which had no place being within his actual bedroom, but he couldn’t yet dispose of.

There was a door to a bathroom, which would historically have been shared with the neighbouring bedroom, but the Wrynn line had never filled the rooms. Instead he’d had it to himself his entire life, along with the room beyond as a play den, of sorts.

He nudged Nathanos to the desk chair, where he looked upon it with instant disdain, but slowly eased himself to sit down anyway.

It had been a generous room for a child, but with the four of them it was uncomfortably cramped, and already Anduin could see Jaina was at her limit. Gods, he could feel it in the rapidly cooling air, so he wasn’t surprised when she offered him and Shaw a tired nod and a brief farewell.

“Anduin, Shaw. I trust you can take it safely from here?” She asked from the doorway, “Unless you need… another pair of hands.” She eyed Nathanos, barely bothering to try and hide her disgust at his state.

“We’ll be fine, thank you for your help.” ‘ _With everything’_ went unsaid, but Anduin knew she understood. She offered him a tired smile, gave Shaw a polite nod, and cast a wary glance at the undead man in Anduin’s childhood room before she took her leave, closing the door behind her. There was the soft sound of a portal, and it was quiet again.

The chill in the air was slow to leave, but already Anduin could sense the feeling coming back to his fingertips. He wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for a year. Instead, he stepped behind Nathanos to hide his yawn and the moment he took to shake his shoulders back, and regain his composure.

He didn’t stop to think about what he was doing, acting on impulse when he placed his hands, still gloved, on Nathanos’ head and began to card through his hair, combing the lank strands back from his face. Under him, Nathanos was tense but didn’t object, and seemed to relax after a few passes of Anduin idly petting him, resting back into the chair with a soft noise that woke Anduin up more than any cup of coffee might.

“Shaw, could you fetch the kit?” Anduin asked as he dragged his fingertips through again, scratching lightly at Nathanos’ scalp. Shaw left to get the medical kit from the bathroom, a hefty bag Anduin had stored there earlier, with supplies from his own private stock, topped up with bandages and dressings from the Keep infirmary. Nathanos watched him leave, but tipped his head back obediently when Anduin tugged gently at his hair, so he could look at him properly, despite being upside down.

“Nathanos, this is my old room,” he scraped a loose hair from Nathanos’ forehead, petting it back, and tucking it behind his ear. “Please treat my things with respect. I don’t want to make it an order, but I will if I have to, do you understand?”

Nathanos’ throat bobbed with a swallow, but he nodded, eyes not leaving Anduin’s face.

“Good,” Anduin barely avoided tacking on the _‘boy’_ by the skin of his teeth, and blamed it on his fatigue. Still, foggy headed or not, he had work to do, even if he could barely control the impulsive words that sprang to his tongue. “Your hair is very thick for an undead, isn’t it?”

“Oh? Do this a lot do you?” Nathanos tried for snark, but he sounded as tired as Anduin felt. He slumped back against the seat when Anduin let his head tip back down, but the sudden way he tensed made Anduin look up, just to see Shaw waiting with the kit at his feet, his odd coat folded neatly on a side table next to him.

 _Light_ but he was out of it if he hadn’t even noticed Shaw come back in.

Still, Shaw was there as… a threat, and help. For now, there was no need for Nathanos to pay him much attention, not when he was talking to Anduin. He pushed his hands deep into his hair, and dragged back with a scrape, enjoying the half-noise Nathanos couldn’t quite control in time. His hair was lank and filthy, and Anduin watched how his gloves came away dirtier with every drag of his fingertips. Forsaken didn’t sweat, that much was obvious, which meant it just had to be dirt, and gore, and whatever filth a feral undead might find themselves in.

But he was tired, and played for time by plaiting and brushing out a knot or five, untangling the occasional clump of muck. He even pulled out a couple of tiny leaves— a bloom of Arthas’ Tears, if he were any judge— that he tossed to the desk next to them.

“The few I’ve met didn’t seem as well put together as you. I think one had replaced her hair with some sort of animal fur? It was sewn on around here”, he traced Nathanos’ hairline from ear to ear with a finger, and enjoyed the slight shiver he could feel under his hands. “Is that common?”

Nathanos didn’t answer, but he jerked just as Anduin was about to tie a quick knot in the end of the plait. He made a noise when Anduin didn’t remove his hands. “It… You idiot, it won’t grow back if you damage it.”

“I don’t think an extra knot will make a difference at this point, but as you wish.” He left it without tying it, and it was so filthy it stayed in place, anyway. “I never thought you’d be so vain, I should have threatened you with scissors, not with Genn.” He pet Nathanos head one final time as he said it, and ignored the rumbling noise from Nathanos’ throat. “Hm, speaking of. Shaw?” Anduin held out his hand, and Shaw obligingly dug around in the kit until he pulled out a long pair of shears, handing them over without a word.

Nathanos looked ready to bolt. “I’m cooperating aren’t I? Put those away.” He pushed forward in his seat, as far from Anduin as he could without standing up. Anduin didn’t miss the way he tucked his hand against his chest, and readied his legs under him to escape. Anduin sighed and coaxed him back into his seat with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“It’s fine Nathanos, I just need to cut you out of your clothes.” Nathanos looked like he wanted to argue, glanced down at himself, and glared at the wall instead.

It was slow, careful work to cut him free, starting at the ankle and working around, with Shaw helping him move when needed. The fabric was ragged enough to be torn free, but Anduin could see that it used to be high quality before it was ruined. He’d have to dress Nathanos in something as equally as nice, perhaps _nicer_. It was a possessive little thought that had no business sending such a thrill through him, but Anduin would consider the implications later. For now… There was work to do.

It was calming, he thought, to be looking after someone again. Even more so when the threat of their death wasn’t hanging over his head, and Anduin was happy to sink into the comfort of being able to help in some way.

“Oh, Nathanos…” As he peeled away the rags of coat from his chest, Anduin saw for the first time the extent of a wound he had thought smaller and less… fatal on anyone else. A messy stab wound in Nathanos’ side, from some sort of broad blade, or a smaller one that had torn wide on exit, leaving the flesh ragged behind it. The blood? Ichor? Was dark, a sort of oily black that shone with a hint of green in the light as Anduin crouched to peer closer. Inside the wound was too dark to see, but even just brushing it with a careful finger had Nathanos flinching back with a hiss.

“Don’t—”

“I won’t. Light, Nathanos does it hurt? Why didn’t you…” He didn’t finish the question, the look Nathanos gave him told him he was a fool for even thinking of it. “Okay, let’s get you up.”

The wound didn’t bleed when he moved, and aside from perhaps being tender, didn’t seem to hinder Nathanos too much. Anduin pretended not to look when he and Shaw helped Nathanos upright, and they could finally remove the rest of his trousers and smallclothes. Anduin pretended that if he looked a little too long in certain places, it was because he was checking for wounds, and not committing everything to memory for later that night.

Gods he was disgusted with himself, but it didn’t stop him looking. It _definitely_ didn’t stop him noticing the flash of metal at the head of Nathanos’ cock. Unfortunately for Nathanos, Shaw noticed it too, and he had much less depraved thoughts about it. “You’re pierced?” He sounded professional, bored even, but it didn’t stop Nathanos from growling at him like a dog.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, _human_.” He spat, though didn’t try to hide it. They were all men, all soldiers who had bathed and changed amongst enough of their kind (and other species) that it wasn’t an issue. If Anduin could ignore whatever it was that hung between a draenei’s legs, he should be able to do a better job of ignoring Nathanos’ more or less human state. It was his own failing that he couldn’t stop glancing.

“It’s not exactly my idea of a good time either, _undead,_ but I need to check it.”

“Why? Scared I might break out of here with nothing more than one working hand, and a ring through my cock? I’m good, spymaster, but I’m not _that_ good.”

“Then you won’t mind me looking, will you? Sit back down.”

Nathanos scoffed, but sat again with Anduin’s help. He made a show of spreading his legs wide, and gestured to himself with his uninjured hand. Anduin stood at his back, with one hand on Nathanos’ shoulder, the words on the tip of his tongue if he needed to make Nathanos stop. He was glad Nathanos couldn’t see his face, and prayed that Shaw wouldn’t comment if he noticed his gaze wander.

“Warm your hands up at least, won’t you? I must say, I thought the Forsaken took the crown for unethical treatment of prisoners, but at least we don’t molest them.” Nathanos seemed to need to run his mouth a little, until Anduin stroked the back of his neck. Nathanos scoffed, but grew quiet. Together they watched Shaw roll his eyes and crouch between Nathanos’ legs, lift his cock with gloved hands, and clinically push back the foreskin that slightly covered the ring. Anduin swallowed hard, wishing it were him down there. He chased _that_ thought away with a quick prayer.

Nathanos was still and tense under his hand, and he could see the tremor in his thighs as he fought to keep them spread. 

Shaw was quick, and methodical. He spun the ring through it’s hole, checked the ball joint that kept it closed, and made sure it couldn’t be taken out easily, or bent into a new shape. Anduin watched him frown, and twist it oddly. He catalogued the noise Nathanos made for later.

“You can’t remove this?” Shaw asked, hooking a finger through the ring and tugging upwards. When Nathanos didn’t answer, Shaw tugged it again, and Anduin had to reach down and put a hand on Nathanos’ thigh to stop him from kicking out.

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business, but no. Not without a tool, and I can preemptively _assure_ _you_ that I’m not storing a set of bolt cutters up my ass. Now _move_!” He nearly toppled off the chair when he tried to kick Shaw out of the way, but Anduin caught him just in time. Conditioning. He was still meant to be conditioning good behaviour. He had been too busy staring, and _so tired_ , that he forgot.

“Thank you for cooperating, Nathanos.” Anduin kept his voice light and calm, stroked the back of Nathanos’ neck, and pet his hair again, relishing the shudder he received. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

It was easy enough to help him into the adjoining bathroom, then into the raised marble tub. Anduin let him settle before turning on the taps, keeping the temperature hot, but not scalding. Shaw stood watch while Anduin tossed his gloves to a corner, and grabbed the soap and a washcloth, letting himself sink into the familiar and comfortable mundanity of looking after someone. Even if that particular someone happened to be a prisoner, who’d sooner kill him, than truly cooperate.

Nathanos was unhappy, that much was obvious. He complained and scoffed as Anduin scrubbed him down, starting at the neck and working along his arms. He was careful of his hands, took his time around the damaged flesh, to cleanse it and see what needed to be done. He carefully cleaned as close to the edge of the chest wound as he could, and when Anduin pushed Nathanos forward, to get to his back, he handed him the cloth so he could wash his legs and _other_ parts himself.

“Oh, _you_ don’t want a grope as well Little Lion? _Pity_.” Anduin could feel the sneer without seeing Nathanos’ face, and ignored it. Nathanos’ back didn’t seem too bad at least, just a few cuts and bruises, but he took his time, cleaning and scrubbing twice to make sure he reached everything. 

While Nathanos washed himself, Anduin grabbed the pitcher from the table, and filled it under the taps before turning them off. He got himself comfortable, propped on the edge of the tub behind Nathanos.

The soap was a herbal one, ideal for cutting through grease and dirt. Anduin refused to admit he’d chosen it because of how much he liked the smell, a sweet, spicy scent that reminded him of exotic teas and late nights spent mixing potions. He was immediately glad when just unwrapping the bar helped cover the lingering smell of decay.

He rubbed it into a lather between his hands, and dragged the foam through Nathanos hair, feeling for the first time with bare hands how thick with grit and gore it was. He scrubbed, as gently as he could, and used his nails to pick at dried blood and mud, until the foam itself was a grim, muddy colour, to match the water Nathanos sat in.

“Head back…” Anduin murmured as he covered Nathanos’ eyes with one hand and tipped his head back to pour the pitcher of water over. He pretended to ignore the noise that caught in Nathanos’ throat as he ran his fingers through, dragging out the suds and dirt. Again, he lathered the soap up as best he could, and repeated until he could drag his fingers through the length of Nathanos’ hair without snagging on grime. Carefully, he sifted through, checking the scalp for any missed specks of dirt, as well as instinctively checking for lice, as he’d been taught so many years ago. He was pleased when he judged Nathanos fully clean.

Finally, he reached to grab a small bottle of hair oil from the shelf near the tub, and worked a tiny amount into the length, so that it wouldn’t tangle as much. He’d need to ask Nathanos if he needed any specialist undead supplies, but he hoped this would be fine for now.

He had just opened his mouth to ask, when he noticed Nathanos had gone lax under him, the washcloth forgotten, floating by his knee. Anduin couldn’t see his face from where he was, but a testing stroke down his neck received a shiver in response, so he did it again, and then once more before he pulled back control of himself. He ran his fingers through his hair once more before twisting it into a loose plait again, and though it fell out quickly without a tie, it at least stopped falling into Nathanos’ eyes. Anduin shuffled around, grabbing a clean cloth from the shelf, and set to cleaning Nathanos face as carefully as he could.

Nathanos watched him silently through half-lidded eyes, closing them when the cloth strayed too close. But he remained relaxed and pliant, while Anduin concentrated on cleaning out a cut hidden in his beard.

This was dangerous, Anduin thought, but he couldn’t stop himself. He cleaned Nathanos’ face with more care and diligence than he’d ever shown to his own, mapping the lines and contours with the cloth, and aching to touch him with his bare fingers. The burn marks from his Light-touched hands had all but faded, leaving just a small blemish on Nathanos’ cheek, that he could only see because he knew it was there. Nathanos’ skin was warmed fractionally by the water, but otherwise remained cool. He wouldn’t stop staring, and Anduin needed to stop before he let his foggy, tired mind do something he’d regret.

“Look at that, there was someone under all that dirt after all.” He mumbled it without thinking, something his nanny used to say when she bathed him so many years ago. It was enough to snap them both out of it, Anduin with a blush and Nathanos glaring at the dirty water while he mumbled something in Gutterspeak. “Right then. Okay. Up you get, then.”

Anduin helped him to stand in the tub, and gave him a rinse to get rid of the dirty soap suds and water. He offered an arm to assist Nathanos out of the tub and onto a stool, while Shaw grabbed a towel from a high shelf, and tossed it at them from across the room. Anduin deftly wrapped it around Nathanos’ waist, tucking in the end to keep it from slipping.

It was… alarming, how easily Anduin had forgotten that Shaw was there, but perhaps that was the key to his success. He didn’t have anything to say about Anduin’s behaviour, at least, though his usual feigned disinterest was undershot with a fatigue that they all felt.

No matter his tired mind, all inappropriate thoughts left him when he had Nathanos settled and drying on the small stool. The slip into the mindset of a healer was easy and comfortable, as he started to properly think out plans to fix the wounds that littered Nathanos’ body. What wounds needed extra cleaning? What needed treating first? Was anything infected, and what needed stitches? How in the hell was he going to fix the hand Nathanos still kept curled to his chest, and the gaping hole in his torso?

He went to grab the bag of supplies, but found that Shaw had already brought it in, and offered a quiet nod of thanks for his foresight. Shaw nodded in response, and leaned against the wall, pressing his shoulder into the stone. It was obvious that he was struggling to stay professional, so Anduin swore he’d get this over with soon. He pulled a clean linen apron from the bag to protect his clothes, and knelt down in front of Nathanos to inspect his chest again.

“Well, given there’s no risk of death,” Anduin flashed a small, tight lipped smile, “how about we start at your chest, and work outward? Can I see?” He gently pushed Nathanos’ shoulder, until he sat back and put his injured hand in his lap. Now that it was clean, Anduin could finally get a good look at the stab wound that would have killed any mortal.

With the gore gone, it was very obviously caused by a broadsword, likely the work of an Argent Crusade agent. Anduin’s gut roiled at the thought of what must have happened to Nathanos’ attacker. He decided he wouldn’t ask about it.

With careful fingers, he felt around the ragged edges of the wound, and tested the give of the skin. It was odd that he was so cold, with no sign of infection or fresh blood, just… carved open, like a slab of old meat.

“If I stitch this, will it knit back together? Or do you need something else to aid the healing process?” He asked.

“I doubt you’d like the answer, even if I were willing to give it to you.” Nathanos replied, watching closely as Anduin sighed.

“Nathanos.” Anduin put a warning into his voice, and stared him down until Nathanos relented and glanced away. Eventually, after Anduin had thoroughly inspected every wound he could see, and pulled a sturdy needle and thread from the supply satchel to start working, Nathanos offered a vague answer.

“I need to consume something…” He paused, as if considering the best phrase to use, “ _living_.”

Anduin balked, “that’s not-”

“It doesn’t need to be a _human_ you idiot of a boy! Insects are usually enough, for low level rejuvenation at least. But this?” he gestured to his torso with his uninjured hand, “perhaps a rabbit or two.”

“How does it work?”Anduin asked. Nathanos shot him a look that would immolate anyone lesser.

“How does the undead monster fix itself without the _Light_ ? It’s magic, idiot! Do I look like a blasted mage to you? _No_? Then go ask a necromancer!” He winced when Anduin ignored his complaints and started sewing the wound closed. Anduin would usually pulse Light into his work, to help numb the area, and assist in the healing process, but this time, that was obviously out of the question.

“I assumed that you might consume life essence, as I’ve seen warlocks do.” _As I’ve seen shadow priests do,_ he thought with a brief glance towards the Spymaster, but he didn’t want Shaw to figure out any more of his secrets, so kept his mouth shut and returned to his work. He thought he’d have to try harder to keep Nathanos talking, and distract him from the pain as he’d do with any other patient, but it seemed he was keen to distract himself.

“Obviously you would. Though it’s not a secret that undead eat a myriad of unappealing creatures. Did you think it was for the _aesthetic_ ? That we _like_ picking bits of chitin out of whatever teeth we have?” Nathanos tutted. “By the Lady, I knew the Alliance was ruled by idiots, but this is truly exceptional.”

“Forgive my ignorance, I don’t get to talk to many undead. Even those of the Ebon Blade are quiet about their magic.” It was unnerving, sewing together dead flesh. It felt more like the raw meat he’d practised on as a novice healer but, while the skin didn’t jump under his hand, Nathanos still reacted to the needle, and seemed to breathe out harshly when Anduin tied off another stitch, and moved on to the next one.

“Little wonder. Only a fool would let slip how to kill them.” Nathanos kept his hands on his lap, even when Anduin had to get closer, twisting to get the right angle for the next stitch. Close up, the smell of rot and death was gone, replaced by the clean scent of soap and healing herbs. Anduin wriggled, and had Nathanos lift his arm and rest his hand on Anduin’s shoulder to get to the next stitch. He ignored the fact that it was the first time, really, that Nathanos had touched him back. And judging by the tension, Nathanos was having similar thoughts.

“This would probably be easier with you on the floor…” He muttered to himself, focused on his work. The wound stretched across his abdomen, from his side to his gut. When the section under his arm was done, Anduin shuffled sideways to continue, resting a hand to support himself on Nathanos’ bare thigh without thinking. He froze, like a rabbit in the lamplight, and felt Nathanos’ hand on his shoulder twitch as well. “L-lean back for me please.” Anduin tried to keep his voice professional, even as his traitorous mind catalogued the feel of him under his bare hands, the light dusting of hair, the way his skin warmed under Anduin’s touch. The shaky exhale as Nathanos leaned back for him.

Nathanos held tighter onto Anduin’s shoulder, and the position helped realign the skin of the wound to where it should be. Reluctantly, Anduin pulled his hand away from its place on Nathanos’ thigh, and he refused to look at it, scared he’d see a mark where he’d touched him, or something as equally ridiculous.

“Good, that’s perfect. Hold still.” 

It was just the right position to stretch his torso, and it was a simple enough task to stitch up the rest of the wound. With the final knot tied, Anduin leaned back to inspect his work, finally letting Nathanos drop his arm. There was little clean up to be done, no ointment to rub off, no blood to rinse away. Just a long run of neat stitches from gut to waist.

“Well, it looks neat enough. Do we have to worry about infection? If I can bandage it, keep it from moving or pulling, that would help the stitches—”

“That’s not a concern.” Nathanos’ interruption was terse.

“Infection? Or the bandage? Because right now you’re my patient, I need to know how to help you heal.” Anduin said. Nathanos was compliant as Anduin stood and inspected his uninjured arm and hand, checking that the bones and joints weren’t broken. Thankfully, it was fine.

“So, I’m your captive, your patient, your… Bargaining chip? No, more like your _trophy_.”

Anduin bristled at the implication, forgot that this man was a murderer, wanted by practically the whole of Azeroth. The room around seemed to fade, shifting out of focus as Nathanos stared him dead in the eye, and Anduin found he couldn’t look anywhere else. Nathanos had offered a challenge that Anduin needed to meet, to firmly put down. His hand found its customary place at the base of Nathanos’ neck, tucked against the damp strands of hair that stuck to his skin and resting on the chain of the necklace around his throat.

“Let’s just settle on you being _mine_ then, hm?” His voice was soft, lilted just the way he knew got whatever he wanted, but his eyes were hard, his grip on Nathanos’ neck tight.

One could gain friends with a smile and kind gestures, but one won over enemies with a soft voice, and a hard hand against their throat.

“…For now.” Nathanos relented, dropping his gaze to somewhere over Anduin’s shoulder.

Anduin simply smiled, and went back to inspecting him, hand on his neck as he looked his face over. A thumb and finger under his chin made him easy to control, and he moved wherever he was told to, avoiding eye contact. 

“At least your face is just a little bruised, no need for stitches that I can see. Open your mouth please.”

To his credit, Nathanos complied. It didn’t stop Anduin from gently easing his thumb in and prying his mouth open wider though. At a glance… two gold teeth, one missing molar near the back. A little overcrowded, making them crooked in the front, but no cracks, and no obvious signs of disease when he ran his thumb over the gums. Better condition than he’d expected, if he was honest, but he needed to brush them. Badly.

“Here, chew on this.” He offered a stem of bruiseweed from his herb supply. As Nathanos chewed, the soft scent quickly overtook any of the lingering sour smell. Anduin would leave him with a toothbrush and powder; as much as the thought of cleaning his teeth for him left a coil of dark _want_ in his gut, it was an indignity Nathanos likely wouldn’t suffer. “I’ll treat your other hand last. Let me see your feet.”

There wasn’t much he could do, save for stitching a particularly bad gash on the sole of Nathanos left foot, and bind a broken toe to its neighbour. Still, he took his time, inspected every wound, and every break. He was worried that, without some sort of healing magic, the bones might heal poorly and hinder his movement. He knew he shouldn’t worry about the enemy being hobbled but… the thought of not doing everything he could to help, left a bad taste in his mouth.

The scattering of cuts and marks over the rest of Nathanos’ body would likely heal themselves, or would have on anyone alive, at least. He left them alone to focus on the worst injury: Nathanos’ hand. It was a whole world of problems in itself. Every finger was broken, the tips of bones poking through the flesh. If Nathanos were living, Anduin would have suggested amputation, as the hand would be a lost cause.

“Did you go digging?” He meant it lightly, not thinking properly, his mouth saying whatever it wanted. Nathanos was sullen though, but muttered an answer eventually.

“There aren't always fresh young recruits to eat. Sometimes you have to dig for scraps.” He said, there was a dark edge to his voice.

“Oh. That’s… that’s awful.” Anduin caught Nathanos’ face with his fingertips before he could sneer, rubbed a thumb into his beard and kept him from trying to look away. “No really, I’m sorry you had to go through that. I think…” He tried not to glance back at Shaw, “I think it’s admirable, to survive against the odds.”

“Do you _always_ have a speech just ready to go? I didn’t dig up graves because I _needed_ to, it was because I _couldn’t control myself_. There’s a difference.” Nathanos snapped, but didn’t pull away from the hand on his face.

“Nathanos…” Anduin wasn’t sure what to say, just sighed as he rubbed Nathanos’ jaw again. His beard was thick and coarse, and he wondered if he needed some sort of oil for it. He knew Shaw used something to keep his own moustache and goatee tidy, and soft. “Give me your hand again, please. Without the Light, I can’t do much for it. Will food help? Potions?”

Nathanos hesitated a moment before resting his broken hand in Anduin’s again. “I would have thought it in your best interests to leave me crippled.”

“That… I couldn’t do that.” Anduin spoke quietly, “no one should be forced to suffer needlessly, not even as punishment.”

Nathanos levelled him with a withering look. Anduin just shrugged with a tired smile, more than used to the reaction from everyone, both enemy and ally alike.

Anduin finished his treatments by wrapping Nathanos in clean bandages, hoping it would keep the stitches from pulling and undoing his work. Truly, he wasn’t sure Nathanos needed it, but it gave his hands something to do.

Nathanos’ hand was the worst; the wound in his side was deep and gruesome, but less traumatic than the ruined state of the appendage. Anduin had no idea if it could even be fixed, let alone healed back to a working state. He kept it tucked close to Nathanos’ body with a sling, and between his chest, arm and feet, Nathanos ended up looking more like a mummified desert troll than anything that should be standing in his childhood room, glaring at him.

Nathanos was steadier on his feet as they moved back to the bedroom, Shaw following, silent as a shadow. Nathanos stood awkwardly by the bed, as Anduin rummaged in the chest of drawers for the clothing he’d ordered to be brought up from the laundry; a set of plain linen underwear, vests and woollen socks, light trousers and a couple of loose tunics. Simple, but comfortable, the ideal clothing to wear when healing or resting.

Anduin wondered if there was a tailor in the city he could trust to bring in to take Nathanos’ measurements, or perhaps they could be sent off to have some properly sized clothing made. But, until then, loose and generic garb would have to do.

He helped Nathanos into the underwear first, followed by the trousers, before letting him sit down heavily on the edge of the mattress. He didn’t watch as Anduin knelt to pull the socks on for him, but obediently lifted his arms as the tunic was pulled over his head, letting Anduin maneuver his arm in order to reposition the sling.

He looked… small without his wool and leathers. Tucked in on himself, freshly washed and wearing commoner’s clothes, he looked like any regular civilian. Anduin found it… jarring.

“I didn’t know what size shoe you wore, but we’ll put an order in with the cobbler this week. Until then, the royal quarters have enough rugs, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Nathanos remained silent.

“Shaw, will you be joining us for lunch?” Anduin asked, finally acknowledging the Spymaster’s presence, and genuinely curious about the answer.

“I think,” Shaw’s lip twisted in distaste as he looked over Nathanos. “I’ll take my leave. You seem to have things well in hand. Send for me, if you need me.”

“Of course, thank you for your help.”

Shaw left with a curt nod, and one final glance at Nathanos. And Anduin was alone with him for the first time since… since he’d invaded his mind.

“Do you need assistance to walk? I can have lunch brought in here, though—”

“Why are you doing this?” Nathanos’ voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“…Doing what?" Anduin asked, genuine confusion flickering across his features.

“I don’t recall tell of you bringing Saurfang to your quarters, or dressing him, or…” Nathanos gestured at himself. “Any of _this_. In fact from what I heard, he enjoyed a rather mundane stay in the Stockades, at least until he ‘escaped’.”

“I already told you, I can keep a closer eye on you here. I said I’d keep you alive and well until our contract was null. And…” Anduin tried to collect his thoughts, outside of the dark desire to keep Nathanos to himself. “I need your help, that much should be obvious. I don’t think that we’d have a good working relationship if I kept you in a cage until I had need of you, do you? Besides, Saurfang… didn’t need my help.”

“ _I_ didn’t ask for your _help_!” Nathanos’ hair slipped into his face as he shouted, only making him angrier, as he had to push it back.

“No, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t need it. Truly? I’m just selfish, and it’s distressing to _me_ to see you suffer, even if you do want to kill me.” Anduin huffed out a breath, “You can think of it this way, if you like; I’m only doing this to make myself feel better about...” _About keeping you._ “About the way we’ve treated you already.”

“You should experience Horde hospitality sometime, you wouldn’t be so quick to act the host after a week in Undercity.”

“I think it’s in your best interests that I don’t sink to your Lady’s level, don’t you?” Anduin spat back without thinking.

Nathanos tensed all over again, and Anduin regretted his words immediately. It was so easy to dig, to poke and twist. Maybe he wasn’t keeping Nathanos chained in a cage, but… he needed to be kinder. Prove that he was above the pettiness of their mutual ‘hatred’.

“Would you like,” he began, _be kind, offer a choice._ “Would you like to eat lunch with me? Or would you rather eat alone? I had the servants bring a selection of meats.”

“Whatever will they think of you, and your sudden change in diet.” Nathanos had given up on keeping his drying hair out of his face. Without stopping to question himself, Anduin pulled his own tie from his hair, and gestured for Nathanos to turn his head a little. He complied with little more than a glare at the blue ribbon in Anduin’s hand. Anduin pulled the top section into a small tail, leaving the rest down about his jaw, but most importantly, it was now out of Nathanos’ face.

He stepped back to give Nathanos some space as he tucked loose strands of his own hair behind an ear. _Be kind_ . “I told them I was taming a—” _‘A feral dog’_ , he’d told the kitchen, so many moons ago. They hadn’t even batted an eyelid at his latest request. “A beast—”

“A _dog_.” Nathanos spat, and Anduin could only offer him an embarrassed half shrug. In the end, Nathanos huffed a sigh through his nose. “There are worse things to be, I suppose.”

“I like dogs.” Anduin regretted his words immediately, flushing red when Nathanos rolled his eyes. He rushed to change the topic. “You should rest. I’ll bring you some lunch, I’ll just be a moment—”

“Don’t.” Nathanos, small and broken on Anduin’s childhood bed, looked like he was a step away from sleep, and Anduin didn’t blame him. “Just… leave me be.”

“Okay. I’m locking you in today, we’ll talk over the rules later.” Anduin strode away to grab the medical kit from the bathroom, and made sure the shears were safely tucked away. As he glanced around, he realised he’d have to find a way to clean the place; the tub was filthy, there were scraps of clothing and threads everywhere, but he couldn’t send a servant up with Nathanos there. He’d work it out. He took the pitcher he had used earlier to wash Nathanos, and thoroughly rinsed it under the running taps, before filling it again with cold water, and gathering a glass he found above the sink.

Back in the bedroom, Nathanos was slumping further sideways onto the mattress, watching through his lashes as Anduin placed the pitcher and glass on the bedside table.

With nothing else he could do to waste time, Anduin hovered in the doorway.

“Rest well, Nathanos.” He said. He didn’t receive an answer, so left as quietly as he could. The door locked with a click, and Anduin stared at the solid wood in front of his face a moment, before turning and walking the handful of paces to his own room. He ignored the food laid out on the table, as he dumped the medical kit by the door. He at least managed to remove his apron before he collapsed onto his bed, and passed out near enough instantly.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks to Trollsweat for editing while I lit sit on their shoulder watching >:3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Wrapped Up Warm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27564862) by [TrollSweat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrollSweat/pseuds/TrollSweat)




End file.
